Beyond the Rising Sun
by justcallmefaye
Summary: COMPLETE. Post Series. In the end, it would be about growing up and looking back and moving on and finding out that some things only grow stronger with time. Zutara.
1. un

Disclaimer: _Avatar:_ _The Last Airbender_ is not mine. My name is neither Bryan or Mike. To top it off, I'm a girl. Who owns nothing. And it won't magically become mine in future chapters, so I'm not going to repeat myself. This is a _bona fide_ perpetual, carry-over disclaimer.

A/N: Welcome to my post-series Zutarian epic. Read, enjoy, and, as always, reviews would be love.

* * *

_**Beyond the Rising Sun**_

_**i.**_

Zuko closed his eyes and breathed.

In days past, he would only have performed such a simple activity while meditating, and that was always for practice, to further his bending, to achieve that unachievable perfection. But now he was merely reclining in his chair, his arms loosely balanced on the sides, and he allowed himself to relax.

Being the Fire Lord, he realized, was not all it was cracked up to be. Ruling a country required time and energy, and trying to repair and restore a country required infinitely larger amounts of each. His nation—his once proud and indomitable and, yes, let's not sugarcoat, tyrannical nation—had collapsed into ashes. The economy had suffered horrifically following the end of the war, but when the entire industry was geared towards the production of battle machines, that was only to be expected. When he traveled the countryside, doing his level best to stay on top of absolutely everything, he would see farmers hoeing the rich volcanic soil with swords and pikes, women rocking their infants in empty breastplates, children hauling water in forgotten helmets.

The war had ironically been the life of the Fire Nation, and in its absence, the country had nearly died.

Nearly.

Zuko sighed, raising long, pale fingers to his face and massaging the ever-present furrow between his brows. Disabling the military had been his first priority—as had been enacted in the treaty between the three nations—but for the majority of the past three years, he had focused wholly on rebuilding his country from the ground up. The Fire Nation _was_ innovative in their technology, and Zuko found it much more lucrative to sell the inventions as opposed to forcing them.

And there was peace. It was a fragile, tentative, time-bomb sort of peace, but it was still better than the war.

He owed it largely to his Spirit Brother—or so Aang had dubbed them long ago—because the Avatar was, after all, the Avatar, and people were not only willing to listen to him, but they also desperately wanted to believe in him. So they accepted Zuko and by extension his nation, and while it might have been something less than good will or faith, it was still something. Zuko considered himself lucky that Aang would never presume to collect this debt because the once-banished prince would have to fork over everything he owned and then some to equal the price.

The image of the last airbender still hovering in his mind's eye, the Fire Lord shifted through the scrolls littering his expansive desk, hunting for a short missive from his uncle. While Iroh had a tendency to wax on eloquently, his most recent letter had been brief, a fact explained by the fundamentals of supply and demand. Zuko smirked to himself: he understood that concept far better than he wanted. And it seemed Iroh had more customers than he had waiters, and the Jasmine Dragon was so successful it was ludicrous.

Finally locating the scroll, he pulled it out and scanned the columns of characters, searching for the part he wanted to read. There: Aang and Katara were currently in the Earth Kingdom capital and taking a well-deserved break from the never-ending task of rebuilding the world. Leaning his chin on one hand while the other supported the scroll, Zuko let his eyes linger on the collection of ink-slashes that formed her name.

It had been a very long time since he had actually seen Katara—but no, it couldn't be a year already, could it? Surely the Avatar would have had reason to visit the fledgling Fire Nation more often. He frowned faintly. He missed his best friend, a status that still surprised him on occasion. They had bonded deeper and more strongly than he ever would have dared to imagine, and sometimes he still found himself wondering if he had merely imagined it, that she had never actually forgiven him and they remained as mortal enemies. But then he would glance aside at the stack of messages written in her hand and signed with her name, and he would remember that everything was relatively well with the world, at least in their little corner.

But he missed her. A thought occurring to him, he smiled to himself. He could certainly supply a legitimate reason for journeying to Ba Sing Se, couldn't he? Politics of this delicate nature required constant care, and it had been some time since he had met with the Earth King.

A chuckle escaped him at that thought. It might've been the Earth Queen, except Toph had steadfastly refused the offer of the adoring citizens. They had had good reason to promote her, of course: a daughter of the wealthiest family in the nation, the companion and earthbending teacher to the Avatar, and she _was_ considerably saner than, say, Bumi, who had regrettably passed. Apparently Toph had figured out that as a politician, she wouldn't be able to throw rocks at whoever crossed her. As the master of the most elite earthbending school in the Kingdom, though, she could throw rocks to her heart's content.

A knock sounded on the iron doors to his study, and Zuko jerked, his chin slipping off his hand as he was startled from his reverie. Blinking, he hastily composed himself and called out, "Enter."

A servant obeyed, approaching his desk and offering a scroll. "This just arrived by boat, my lord," he intoned, bowing low.

"Thank you," Zuko replied absently, grabbing the scroll and tossing it onto the ridiculous pile on his desk. "Dismissed."

Another bow and the servant silently exited, the doors shutting again with the resounding echo of metal.

Zuko eyed the newly arrived message wearily, not wanting to advise yet another town mayor on how best to deal with their economic crisis, but he lifted the scroll regardless and unfurled it, sitting up straighter when he recognized the sharp, efficient strokes.

It was from Mai.

He read it curiously but without much concern. Apparently his girlfriend was extending her stay on Kyoshi Island, but that was nothing new. Mai had first traveled to visit with her best friend shortly after the comet, and she had been voyaging more and more frequently as of late. He recognized it for what it was: they were drifting apart, a reality that came as no surprise. They had never been well suited for each other from the start, and their separation had been a long time in coming.

It wasn't official yet, but Zuko knew it was only a matter of time before they parted ways forever.

He set the letter down and sank back into his chair, elbows balanced on the armrests and fingers laced in his lap. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes, snatching another sterile moment of rest. He had almost slipped into a doze when he jerked awake, something tingling in his memory.

Today was Tuesday. Why was that important?

His brow furrowed as he tried to dig through the avalanche of information clogging his head, and when he located the reason at last, he allowed himself a low sigh.

Tuesdays were the days he visited his sister.

* * *

The walk to the healing house was a long one, but Zuko enjoyed the activity. He had been cloistered in his office all day, and the fresh sea air lent a reinvigorated spring to his step. As opposed to former Fire Lords, he scorned the use of a paladin, insisting on getting around on his own two feet. When his advisors had protested, he had retorted sharply that the Fire Nation was no longer ferried around on a silver platter and so neither would he.

Unsurprisingly, they had been cowed into silence by that.

Pausing in the market—which was bustling, he was grateful to note—to observe some wares, he chose a mango from one of the merchants, who nearly tripped over herself in her effort to accord her ruler with the proper respect. He reacted with impeccable manners (of which Iroh would've been proud), and allowed her to keep the change. More money in circulation, after all, was better for the economy.

He rolled his eyes to himself. Dear Agni, would he ever stop thinking in terms of gold and silver?

Munching into the perfectly ripe fruit, Zuko diverted from the main avenues of the royal city—he had relocated the crown from the military fortress, both symbolically and for the sake of his head—and began ascending the steep slopes that overlooked the lake. It was quieter up here, almost secluded from the frenzy of the crater-dwelling metropolis, but the richest families had procured the land above the lake, undoubtedly for the sweeping, panoramic vista it provided. One of the mansions, though, had been converted into a hospital of sorts for the kind of patients who would be remaining indefinitely.

He brushed aside a stray strand of hair that had worked itself free from his topknot, probably the fault of the stiff breeze which existed at these heights. It was a fairly short piece of hair, but he had not resumed the traditional long locks, instead keeping his hair the length it had been during the comet: long enough to be gathered into the topknot, but short enough so that when he looked in the mirror he didn't see his father, scar or no scar.

Zuko paused on the smooth cobblestone path that wound through the outer courtyards, not sparing the patients or nurses taking advantage of the nice weather any glances. His father was still locked up in prison, the obstinate bastard; for three years, he had refused to tell his son anything about the disappearance of the former Fire Lady. Ursa's location still lay shrouded in mist, and Zuko was beginning to despair that his father would ever surrender the information.

He shook his head, derailing that train of thought. It would do no good to dwell on anything related to his father; such thoughts only brought a sharply bitter flavor to his tongue. And besides, he was here to see his sister.

The nurse behind the desk greeted him with a formal bow, and he smiled faintly in return.

"Lord Zuko, it is good to see you again," she told him, also smiling.

"How is she?" he asked, cutting to the chase. He had never been one for small talk.

Her whole face brightened, and Zuko lifted his eyebrows, not expecting such a stellar reaction. "She is doing much better, my lord! Yesterday, she awoke from her lethargy and inquired into the art of tea-making! It is the first subject she has shown any coherent interest in, my lord, and we believe this marks the beginning of her real recovery."

Zuko nodded curtly, not absorbing the information all the way but not about to dillydally at the reception desk. "Show me to her, then."

The nurse escorted him to a familiar door and excused herself with another bow; Zuko remained motionless in the corridor for long minutes before he finally managed to raise his hand to the knob. Every week was the same; it was such a struggle to visit her, to see the quiet, broken soul his sister had become.

The door glided inwards on silent hinges, and he crossed the threshold, closing the portal again behind him. He lingered, fingers cradling the knob, feeling the familiar sensation of trespassing, and simply glanced around the room. He had been here hundreds of times before, but sometimes it surprised him that nothing ever changed. The décor remained fixed, the furniture in the same places, and it seemed whenever he entered, Azula was sitting in her wheeled chair before the huge curtain windows and gazing out over the lake; as the Fire Lord, after all, he could afford one of the best rooms in the place.

He approached her quietly and reclined in the chair positioned next to the window; she continued staring at the water for a minute or so before she slowly turned her head, once-sharp golden eyes traveling almost lazily over his face.

A slight smile drifted across her lips. "Zuzu."

The once-hated nickname bore no malice, and Zuko remembered, as he always did, the far-off days when she had been innocent and he had been, too, and she had called him _Zuzu_ because _Zuko_ was just too hard to say. A sad smile twisted his own lips, and he replied, "Azula, it's good to see you."

She looked at him a moment more, and he would have described the action as _studying_ if there had been a hint of analysis or calculation anywhere on her face. But there wasn't, and her eyes slid to the side again, resting once more on the sparkling surface of the lake far below.

He dropped his gaze to his hands, absently reviewing the lines on his palms, and tried not to look at her chair. Her legs were fine, not crippled or broken: she simply lacked the will to stand or walk or run. The once-acrobatic princess had degenerated into a frail doll who spent her days staring out a window.

After minutes had slid by in awkward—for him—silence, he raised his eyes back to her face and noted the ever-calm set to her features. "I hear you asked about tea-making yesterday," he ventured, aware that carrying conversations was no longer an ability of his sister's.

She sharpened momentarily: there was no other way to describe the almost-alertness that overcame and then abandoned her face. "Yes," she agreed. "I like tea," she added after a beat, as if such a thing were unimportant in the study of brewing the fragrant leaves.

"I'm sure Uncle would be happy to teach you," Zuko continued, so glad she had actually replied.

Azula simply stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Uncle?" she echoed, looking faintly curious.

He remembered the sensation of her lightning striking him in their Agni Kai. Sometimes he thought it was ironic that the same feeling struck him whenever she revealed her lost grasp on reality.

"Yes, Uncle Iroh," he told her as he had told her every time she reacted this way. "Short, fat, likes to say wise but ambiguous things, loves tea more than life itself. You remember."

She nodded as she always did, but there was no recognition in her dull amber irises. And then a vaguely thoughtful expression washed over her, and she murmured, "Mother visited me today."

Zuko glanced at her sharply, hope swelling in his chest until she continued.

"She braided my hair," Azula mentioned, and Zuko tried not to stare too pointedly at the raven-black locks that fell loosely around her thin shoulders. "It was nice."

"I'm sure it was," he whispered sincerely, almost unable to take the prodding ache in his heart. Azula had been cruel and ruthless once, but no longer, and now in this pitiful state, he could only feel painful compassion and a pointless, fervent wish for better days for her sake. He wiped the tear from his lashes as unobtrusively as possible, even though she never would have noticed.

More silence dragged on between them before Azula spoke again.

"You have to be careful about how long you steep the leaves," she remarked with a soft sort of voice, as if she had been discussing tea for the past few minutes and hadn't just pulled the topic out of the blue.

"Mm, so I've heard," Zuko agreed, leaning his forearms on his knees.

"And the water has to boil," she added, her fingers quivering slightly where they gripped the arms of her chair. One hand loosened, and she made a meaningless gesture. "You pour it, like so."

In a fit of dark, bitter humor, Zuko hoped she never poured tea as she'd just demonstrated: up.

Her hand continued making idle loops in the air, as if she were no longer controlling it, and then fire spurted from her fingertips, orange flames licking in her palm. She regarded it without interest, frowning only slightly when it would not extinguish.

Zuko reached over, closing his hand on hers and eliminating the fire. She had firebent several times in his presence, always accidentally and always with the same blank look in her eyes.

"It's so sunny," she observed, her attention fastened on the distant lake. "Bright."

He merely nodded, releasing her hand. "Today is a beautiful day," he agreed.

"Beautiful," she echoed, her eyelids sliding closed as she relaxed more into her chair. "Mother is beautiful."

"Yes," he murmured, "Mother is beautiful."

"I saw her today."

"She braided your hair," he said tonelessly; he had been wondering when the conversation would take this turn.

"Mmhm," Azula hummed sleepily, cuddling into her chair like a cat basking in the sun. Without opening her eyes, she continued quietly, "I saw Zuzu today, too."

Zuko stiffened, his jaw tightening, and he lowered his forehead to his hand, gritting his teeth against the pain that bore so much deeper than her lightning ever had. "It was nice of him to come," he whispered hoarsely, trying to trap his tears behind his lashes.

"Yes," she agreed, her voice trailing off into silence. "It was…"

He raised his head, watching his sister sleep from behind a blurry veil, and he slowly, stiffly stood up and somehow managed to swallow past the constricting thickness in his throat.

"Sweet dreams, Azula," he said, bending low to press a soft kiss to her smooth forehead.

She did not stir.

* * *

The long walk to the palace was never as nice the second time, and he slumped into his office chair with strained relief. Visiting Azula and seeing her in that condition was so emotionally draining, and it felt as if all the energy had been sucked from his limbs. Everything felt too heavy, and he leaned his crossed arms and head on his desk, exhausted.

Another knock sounded on his door, and he answered without lifting his head. "Enter."

The servant from before halted in front of his desk, another scroll balanced in his outstretched hands. "A message, my lord, just arrived by hawk."

Zuko merely grunted, unable to gather the strength to reply properly, and accepted the scroll limply. He received so much mail these days, and none of it was ever good. Some of it was on the _indifferent_ sort of level, but he hadn't gotten anything non-political or that wasn't an update from Mai—discounting Iroh's one recent missive—in a very long time.

So he ignored the letter for awhile, trying to ease the unbearable pressure in his skull by shrouding his face in shadow and pretending everything was the way it should be, that Azula was a decent, coherent human being and that his mother was here and that his father hadn't been such a despotic bastard and that Katara was visiting because it had been far too long and she had always been good for him.

Eventually, though, he knew he could ignore the news no longer, so he grudgingly raised his head and rolled out the scroll. He scanned it without any of it registering until his eyes lit on the signature at the end, and then he sat up so straight so fast that his spine cracked and popped with the motion.

It was from Katara.

He read avidly, unconsciously muttering the words under his breath.

"_Hey, Zuko. I'm sorry that it's been so long since I've written_—no kidding—_but I've been busy, and not just taking care of Aang! _Taking care of Aang? Who talks about their boyfriend that way?" he grumbled, somewhat confused. Katara had indulged in the increasingly more common habit of referring to the Avatar in a patiently maternal sort of way, and he wondered idly if it meant anything concerning their relationship. Shaking his head, he read on.

"_Guess what? Sokka and Suki are getting married! _Whoa, really? _I know this isn't really an official invitation, but I thought maybe you'd prefer a more personal touch. The wedding has me crazed, but it's going to be so exciting! I'm so happy for them!_" He smiled at that statement: as if Katara would be anything but for her elder brother and his bride-to-be. "_So the wedding will be held on the Summer Solstice down on Kyoshi Island. That gives you three weeks to get your country in order, so you better be there. Otherwise I'll come up myself and waterbend your pompous ass to the ceremony. Love, Katara._ Love, huh," he echoed musingly, staring at the inked character. Mai ended her letters similarly, but he found himself believing it less and less lately.

He eased back in his chair, still holding the scroll, and gazed distantly at the ceiling. "Guess this means I need to buy a wedding gift."


	2. deux

_**Beyond the Rising Sun**_

_**ii.**_

Zuko glared fiercely at the carts of merchandise, his patience left for dead several streets back. Everything was starting to look the same to him, melting into an unending blur of trinkets, none of them remotely appropriate. His hands fisted within the voluminous sleeves of his royal robes, and if he had been less restrained, he would have breathed fire.

"Argh, Uncle, I can't do this!" he declared, crossing his arms on his chest in a petulant manner wholly unfit for a twenty-year-old man, let alone the Fire Lord.

Iroh glanced up from his cache of goods, which filled the large woven basket he carried. "Eh, what is it now, Lord Zuko?"

Zuko gestured sharply at the marketplace, attempting to convey the futility of their errand with one stroke. "This, Uncle! Shopping—I'm terrible at it! Whatever enjoyment you hold for it clearly did not get passed down to me." He paused, eyeing Iroh's purchases for the first time. "What did you buy, anyway? You were just supposed to help me with the wedding present."

"Well," Iroh began, grinning broadly, his amber eyes twinkling with the light of a triumphant shopper, "where can I start? There's this statue—isn't it bizarre? Look at its red eyes…it feels like it's watching you! I think it will clash splendidly with the décor at the Jasmine Dragon!"

The younger frowned severely. "What? You _want_ it to clash? Ahh!" He threw up his hands before slumping forward, his arms swinging weakly from his broad shoulders. "I give up. Let's get some tea."

"Tea? I thought you'd never suggest it!" Iroh exclaimed, grabbing onto his nephew's sleeve and more or less hauling him down and across several streets until they arrived at a tea shop. Zuko pulled his arm free and read the sign, his shoulders sagging even further.

"Ginseng Galley?" he moaned. "You can't be serious, Uncle…"

Iroh practically shoved him through the doors, his smile stretching ear to ear. "This was my favorite tea shop before I relocated to Ba Sing Se and opened my own. It was the model I employed, although I did improve a few things."

"I'll say," Zuko grumbled, sitting down and surveying the interior with a cursory glance. It did look rather like the Jasmine Dragon, save that it was outfitted with the reds and blacks of the Fire Nation. "Whenever someone goes to the trouble to make the name alliterative, you know they're trying way too hard," he added, now in a fine mood.

Iroh merely smiled broader, if that were physically possible, and swiftly ordered a pot of the house favorite—ginseng, of course—before he returned his attention to his simmering nephew. "Now, Zuko. What about this whole business has you so flustered?"

"I'm not flustered," Zuko explained through gritted teeth, "I'm _angry_. There's a difference. And I'm angry because I have no time left to get a gift, and furthermore, I have no idea what to get in the first place! The wedding's in a week, and it's down to the wire: if we don't leave soon, we won't even make it to Kyoshi Island in time for the ceremony. And I've been so busy trying not to let my country crumble around my ears that I've had no time for frivolous things like shopping!"

Iroh stroked his pointed beard, assuming his signature thoughtful pose. "Hm. It seems, my nephew, that the fates are collaborating against you. Now, there is only one way to get back into their good graces."

Zuko, who had let his forehead bow to the table, looked up. "What is it?"

The elder chuckled deeply. "You must treat your venerable uncle to the best tea in town!" He continued laughing even as the tea arrived and Zuko glowered fiercely.

"Uncle, be serious," he reprimanded, overheating his tea so that he could at least use a little firebending. "What can I possibly get them? Suki likes weird outfits and fans and Agni knows what else, and all Sokka ever does is sarcastically talk about meat! So that leaves me with the option of getting them a hunk of meat shaped like a fan!"

Iroh sipped his tea slowly, clearly savoring and analyzing the taste. He set the cup back down, his hands disappearing into his sleeves. "Zuko, you are thinking much too hard about this. It is when you do not think that the best ideas arrive."

The Fire Lord nearly huffed, but he stopped himself and spared his dignity the blow. Instead, he drank his scalding tea with all the poise of a man throwing back a shot of liquor. "Uncle," he growled, "you never make any sense."

The former general smiled secretively and sipped his tea. "I could sign your name to my present…"

Zuko's whole face lit up, grasping at the thread of hope. "You would do that?" he exclaimed.

Iroh laughed his deep belly laugh. "Of course not! You must figure this out for yourself."

"Uncle, this isn't my destiny anymore! It's a stupid wedding present," he seethed, nearly seeing red.

"It's your _immediate_ destiny," Iroh pointed out calmly, and Zuko tried to grind his head into the table.

* * *

Dawn cast a gauzy blanket of pale gray across the star-strewn sky, the barest tendrils of pinkish light hovering furtively on the eastern horizon. The sun had not yet crested the curve of the ocean, but Zuko was a patient man when it suited him, and he knew that if he stood on the balcony of his ship long enough, golden light would flood his vision.

He leaned forward, his weight balanced carefully on his hands, which wrapped securely around the metal railing. The tower of the former battleship stood proud and tall above the deck, and it would be a lethal plummet should he somehow slip off the edge.

But Zuko wasn't paying any attention to the height, his gazed fixed beyond the knife-like prow of his vessel on the morning glow. Everything seemed washed out, as if the color were only just returning to the world, and he allowed himself a faint, peaceful smile as he absorbed the view. The spray churned up by the prow began catching the light, and the droplets were transformed into little specks of fire that flickered for a beautiful instant before diving back into shadow. Had he been on deck, the stiff wind would have sent the spray right into his face, but at his elevation, only the stray locks of his hair were buffeted.

Closing his eyes momentarily, he deeply inhaled the heady, salty scent of the sea, a small smile quirking his lips. In a roundabout way, he had come to love the smell of the ocean: at first, it had only been a foul stench that served as a reminder of his banishment, almost as terrible as the sizzling reek of his burning flesh. But then he had seen the ocean as the place where he began his journey to redemption, where he began to straighten his life out and think for himself, and of course as where he had grown close to his uncle. Add to those facts that something of the salt and the wind and the freedom always clung to Katara, and he decided he rather reveled in the aroma.

"You are up early, Lord Zuko," came his uncle's familiar gruff tones.

Zuko didn't move, keeping his amber eyes fixed steadfastly on the horizon. "Yes," he simply replied.

"I haven't seen you up this early since we were tracking the Avatar," Iroh continued in a more musing sort of way. "Although we are right on target, since he will be at the island as well," he added, chuckling.

The younger man's grip went white-knuckle tight on the railing, and Iroh did not fail to notice. But the former general waited, aware that Zuko had become much better at explaining his thoughts and feelings without provocation from him.

"I haven't…" Zuko began, but then faltered, his face twisting into something halfway between a grimace and a frown. Taking a few slow breaths and allowing the salt to comfort him, he began again, his voice softer this time. "I haven't been to Kyoshi Island since…since before," he settled with, not needing to expound on any details.

"I am sure they do not hold it against you, my nephew," Iroh reassured the other, resting a broad hand on Zuko's hunched shoulder.

The grimace became uglier. "I would have burned down the town if Aang hadn't manipulated the Unagi," he nearly spat, the words venomous with guilt. "This place would be charred off the map, and all because of me. Uncle…" he said, as if the title were a plea, "I have done so many wrongs…I don't think I'll ever possibly right them all."

Iroh's blunt fingers tightened in a gesture of strength. "You will in time, Zuko. Your dedication to your cause already is more than admirable, and you have done much to right the world."

"I still haven't done enough," Zuko muttered, not finished castigating himself. "I would need more lives than the Avatar, and then I still wouldn't have time…" He shook his head, no longer watching for the sun.

Iroh frowned faintly, stroking his white-gray beard with his other hand. "Perhaps not. But all you can do is try, and others will follow your example. Your legacy of peace and unity is what will cleanse you of your sins, and maybe even your guilt."

The Fire Lord nodded weakly, not entirely convinced but grateful for his uncle's words nevertheless. He inclined his head once more, and they simply watched the sun crest the horizon in silence. At length, though, Zuko remarked, "I still can't believe I got them such a crappy gift."

Iroh smiled, the creases around his eyes deepening with his amusement. "A set of pots and pans is very practical, Lord Zuko. And weddings presents are supposed to be practical."

The younger man grunted. "That very well may be, Uncle, but that doesn't make my gift not…lame. I don't even know if either of them can cook! Sokka could burn salad, so I hope Suki can make use of them," he grumbled with a shake of his head. "And besides, the tea set you got them is amazing!"

The former general swelled with a little bit of pride. "Custom painted!" he declared, resting one hand on his rotund stomach in lieu of his heart. "I think the alternating design of pale green fans and azure whale-sharks is very appropriate. Although," Iroh allowed, "I wonder if I should include a free lesson in tea-making with the gift. They do not seem like the sort of people to delve too deeply into the art…"

At that statement, Zuko's face creased, and he glanced over his shoulder, as if he could see all the way back to the Fire Nation capital where it rested in the hollow mouth of a dead volcano. And maybe if he squinted, he would be able to see the healing house and the tall window overlooking the lake.

He allowed himself a small sigh. He had been very glad that Iroh had shown up at the palace out of the blue, claiming that his nephew required some guidance to Kyoshi Island, and as the man always did when he was in the capital city, he visited Azula. Zuko had told his uncle about Azula's vague interest in tea-making, which had prompted Iroh to purchase and personally deliver a small but beautiful tea set: two cups and one pot, all painted with the motif of a blue dragon. Iroh had then spent the better part of the day explaining the intricacies of his art, and while he had reported very positively, Zuko had a nagging suspicion his uncle had indulged in a little optimism. True enough, when he saw her right before they left for the wedding, Azula had been her usual frail, disconnected self, even though the elegant china had been openly displayed near her chair.

Zuko often hoped that Azula would recover and remember herself. But sometimes, in the darkest corners of his consciousness, he prayed that she would remain in this passive state forever and never resume her cold and calculating ways.

And then sometimes he thought his mother would be able to change things, but Ozai never budged.

"What is on your mind, my nephew?" Iroh asked, observing the other sidelong. "You have been quiet for several minutes, and you look troubled."

Zuko pried his hands from the railing, the sun now a swollen ball to the east. "Nothing," he lied, shaking his head to impress his sincerity. "I'll be in my quarters till we arrive."

Iroh watched him go, one hand slowing caressing his pointed beard. "Of course, Zuko," he agreed, even though the Fire Lord could no longer hear him.

* * *

The noon sun of the second longest day of the year beamed down impassively from its azure domain, sending a wash of clear bright light down on what would otherwise be the calm Giant Koi Bay of Kyoshi Island. The arcing lines of land seemed to shelter the circle of water and the crescent curve of beach, but all semblance of tranquility was lost as soon as one observed the tumultuous, all-out bending battle.

Aang held the beach while Katara commanded the glistening ocean, and they were locked in a fierce but wholly un-mortal combat. Rocketing himself skyward with an exploding tower of sand, the sixteen-year-old Avatar capitalized on his momentum with his scarlet glider, soaring to unseen heights. He disappeared into a fleck in the sky, and below Katara readied herself, narrowing her eyes as she squinted up at the sun.

She made an exasperated noise. "Ugh, you're not hiding in the sun's glare _again_, are you? Very well," she muttered, rolling her arms around her body; she sank abruptly into the bay, not a ripple betraying her underwater presence. "Two can play at that game."

She waited patiently, still able to see quite clearly; the water covering her position was only a shallow film, thus discarding the usual blurry deception that came with depth. Any time now, he would plummet from the sky like an arrow from a bow, his choice attack—she bet fire—preceding him. She wasn't overly worried, though.

After all, there was a reason Aang still respectfully referred to her as Sifu Katara.

And then her sharp blue eyes caught the rapidly growing speck against the sun; she made a continuous series of deft movements with her arms and legs, almost as if she were haphazardly treading, and then she abruptly shot her arms heavenward. All the water she had gathered followed the gesture, exploding upwards in a barreling cannon-stream of pure wet power at the same exact instant that Aang unleashed his own attack.

Combining his elements of air and fire, the Avatar belched forth a staggering amount of flame, blowing it straight down in a tunneling spire that connected with her water in a fantastic conflagration of steam. The suddenly-evaporated water clouded the sky, dimming the sun, and Katara resurfaced, her eyes fixed on the foggy mass. She couldn't see a thing, not even vague outlines, and she knew Aang was taking full advantage of this new handicap.

"Not a problem," she grinned to herself, reaching out her hands and retracting the damp from the air. The steam dispelled instantly as the water re-condensed, and Aang barely had time to spin his glider to the side before her newly formed waterwhip snapped towards him. He hadn't anticipated her reacting so fast, though, and she twitched the whip back, this time skillfully snagging his ankle and effectively ruining his flight. Aang grit his teeth and released one hand from his glider, forcing a razor-thin curve of wind through the whip and freeing himself, even during his out-of-control descent.

It would have been no use waterbending. Anything Katara had firm control of was not going to bend to his will, Avatar of not.

Which meant that the entire bay he plummeted towards would respond to his current opponent's beck and call, not his. Exhaling more air than should have been physically present in his lungs, Aang narrowly escaped striking the ocean and flipped skyward once more, swiftly regaining the control of his craft as he swung sharply around for another attack. Streamlining his body as much as he could, he sped towards her low over the surface, almost skimming the waves as he peppered her with an exhaled barrage of flames.

A quick, smooth motion and Katara summoned a curved wall of water that surged around her in a protective circle, dispelling all the fire before neatly melting back into the ocean. She began to spin around as he zoomed past her, but then something on the horizon caught her eye.

A large grin spread across her face as she skated away from the beach, effortlessly manipulating her element as she flirted with the water's surface.

"Last one to Zuko's ship is a rotten badgertoad!" she yelled back cheekily.

She saw Aang give chase, and as he steadily gained, she heard him shout, "Head start, no fair!"

She merely laughed and bent faster as she saw fire erupt from the soles of his feet, propelling his glider exponentially quicker than airbending alone. "You're the Avatar, no fair!" she retorted in good humor as he streaked overhead, flashing her his trademark million-watt smile.

Aang, predictably, won the race, and as he landed lightly upon the deck he bellowed splendidly, "Fire Lord Zuko! Where are you?"

Just then Katara splashed onboard, still grinning as she tidily cleaned up the puddles she had just created and not remotely out of breath from her mad dash.

Aang glanced at her over one bare, broad shoulder and smirked. "Rotten badgertoad."

She bowed deeply, her loose hair slipping forward. "I bear the title with pride."

Zuko, who had been meditating in his quarters, broke his concentration when the Avatar's greeting echoed through the corridors of his ship. Snuffing the candles' flames with a mere thought, Zuko rose to his feet and stretched lightly as he emerged from his cabin and made his way forward to the front deck. Like all captains, his room was situated in the back—the least choppy—section of the vessel, and he passed several nervous-looking guards, who apparently needed reassurance that the unknown visitor was not about to threaten their Fire Lord's life but was, instead, teasing.

The firebender grumbled and ran a hand through his loose hair as he climbed the final metal stair to the uppermost deck: sometimes Aang indulged a little too much in his flair for the dramatic. The sun was blinding in comparison to the dim bowels of the iron ship, and Zuko squinted reflexively, raising a pale hand to block the piercing, warm rays. The wind blasted his hair back from his forehead, and he frowned, confused for a moment how they were moving at such an impossible clip, until he noticed the two partially-dressed people standing in the bow of his ship, waterbending away.

He strode towards them, lowering his hand and slipping it into his pocket instead, and he was just about to announce his presence when his breath caught sharply and rather uncomfortably in his throat: he had just lain eyes on Katara, and he realized that it had to have been years since he'd seen her, or at least seen her like…this.

_This_ meaning clothed only in her undergarments, and the white wraps suddenly didn't seem quite as modest or innocent as they had in the past, long ago on Ember Island. Fifteen-year-old Katara had still been a girl with precious few curves to bother noticing, but eighteen-year-old Katara was decidedly a young woman, and he found more than one feature worth remarking upon.

He desperately hoped his face wasn't nearly as red as it felt.

As he waged his battle for his composure—one he had a sudden, unreasoning fear he could lose easily—the two waterbenders ceased their aid, and the ship glided to a halt near the beach, far enough out so that its deep keel would not embed in the sand. They turned around in unison, as if operating on some unspoken cue, and finally saw the Fire Lord.

Aang scooped up his glider and grinned broadly, at the older boy's side in an instant. "Zuko! You look like you've seen a ghost!" he laughed, light and breezy.

Zuko swallowed and forced his eyes to remain on the Avatar; Katara was just too distracting somehow. "Maybe if you didn't sneak on my ship and mess with the currents, I wouldn't have to be so shocked," he muttered, rather rebelliously, but he did feel very wrong-footed with this new, intensely beautiful version of his best friend standing before him. Consequently, he felt rather justified in acting like a surly kid.

"We just brought your ship in faster, geez," Aang said, still grinning, and he gestured to Katara. "Besides, it was _her_ idea to race out here. Probably 'cause she knew she was gonna lose and wanted to cut her losses," he added cheekily, sticking his tongue out at his girlfriend.

Wait—was she still his girlfriend? Zuko wondered, recalling the different flavor her letters had taken on in the past few months. But her reply jerked him out of his private thoughts, and he realized he had missed the sound of her voice much more strongly than he had first believed.

"I wasn't going to lose," she retorted, smiling with her hands on her hips—Agni, Zuko wished she would stop standing that way. "I was about to defeat you, actually, but I thought I'd spare you the shame, since you're supposed to be the greatest bender alive and all."

Aang snorted, one arm casually draped around Zuko's shoulders; the firebender was barely aware of its presence. "Greatest bender, ha. It's not fair that you can still beat me in waterbending and Toph can still beat me in earthbending. Some Avatar I am," he whined, sounding much more like his former twelve-year-old self.

Katara walked over to them and patted Aang's shoulder with mock sympathy; Zuko kept his gaze stubbornly averted, and why didn't she wear more clothes, for the sake of all things decent? "Cheer up, Aang. I only have to be an expert in one element, as opposed to all four, so it makes sense that I would still be a marginally better waterbender. Besides, you have to let me have something, Mr. I-Saved-the-World. Otherwise," she added with a laugh, "I might develop an inferiority complex."

"We wouldn't want that, now would we?" Aang said, still grinning impishly, and he poked one slender finger into her bare shoulder.

She swiped at his hand, batting it aside, and Zuko felt a surge of irrational jealously as they continued their bantering, effortlessly teasing each other. Their interactions were just so…easy. They had a rhythm, like flawless dancers, and he envied the total lack of awkwardness. Even he and Mai had had faltering moments—when they were actually in each other's presence, anyway—but they seemed so laid back it bordered on obscene.

He hadn't noticed he'd been scowling until Katara pointed it out.

"Zuko, what's with the face? Are you okay?" Her usual note of sympathy colored her carefree tone, and he almost felt bad for putting it there.

"I'm fine," he said, a little more brusquely than anyone truly fine would say. "I just remembered how much I hated having the Avatar hanging on me," he added, more truth in that sentiment.

"Ah, you're no fun," Aang pouted, but he retracted his arm and brushed a few droplets of water off his chest instead. "So now that you're here, I guess that's everyone."

"Well, I had a ways to come," Zuko complained, but then he paused. "So who all is everyone else?"

Katara answered, ticking names off on her fingers as she reeled through the guest list. "Everyone you'd expect—all the Kyoshi warriors and everyone on the island who knows Suki, which is practically everyone, and my father and Gran-Gran and Pakku and all our Water Tribe friends like Bato, and Toph and Teo, and a handful of Freedom Fighters, and Piandao, and Haru and his parents, oh, and Aunt Wu!" Here she stopped and laughed outright, Aang dissolving in wheezing chuckles beside her.

"Oh, Aunt Wu!" Aang managed to say, his face nearly splitting in half from the breadth of his grin.

"Well, she did predict that Sokka would make himself miserable forever," Katara explained, her voice pitched higher due to her hysterics. "At least that fortune proved false, although Sokka by himself would probably be miserable forever!"

"Remember when you were all obsessed?" Aang snorted. "The whole thing with the papaya?"

Katara wrinkled her nose, and for a second, Zuko could see right through her older façade to her fourteen-year-old self. "Ugh, I _still_ hate papaya. But I was pretty stupid, I'm not gonna lie," she added, shaking her head and grinning. And then she dug her elbow into Aang's ribs. "I wonder if Meng is going to come with her…"

Aang twitched, and Zuko looked between the two of them with increasing bewilderment. "Oh, spirits, I hope not," the Avatar muttered.

"Alright, alright," Zuko finally interrupted, raising his hands to emphasize the need for their silence. "Who is Aunt Wu, and what in Agni's name are you two going on about?"

"She's a fortune-teller," Katara volunteered, "from a little village in the Earth Kingdom."

"And her fortunes usually come true—" Aang began.

"—but only because people warp their own futures according to her predictions," Katara finished sagely. "I'm not entirely sure _how_ she got invited, but it's all in good fun, anyway. She'll certainly be entertaining at the reception."

"Yeah, that's for sure!" Aang agreed with another laugh.

"Anyway, nearly everyone we've ever met is going to be there. So much for a quiet ceremony," she chuckled, and she smacked her palm into her forehead. "Oh, crap! I was supposed to…with Suki…ahhh…I'll see you two later!"

Zuko waited, tenser than he thought appropriate, for her to give Aang some personal farewell, like a kiss or a hug. But she only waved at both of them before she vaulted right over the side of the ship; an instant later she could be seen riding a rising swell onto the beach and darting away into the trees. His face pulled into a puzzled frown, but before he could begin interrogating the Avatar on his relationship with his waterbending teacher, Iroh appeared on deck.

"Avatar Aang! It is a great pleasure to see you again!"

The last airbender flitted over to the old general, trading gossip—a weakness they both happened to fall prey to—but Zuko did not join them, wandering instead over to the raised edge of the deck. He could not see anything in the trees, but he stared after her regardless, his previous fears of arrival banished in the whirlwind of emotions caused by her mere presence, and now her mere absence.

His frown deepened, and he glanced over his shoulder at the laughing Avatar, who as usual seemed headily excited with simply being alive. Compared to him, a brooding, still-unconfident mess of a man, Zuko couldn't really argue the logic behind her choice between them.

Who wouldn't pick Aang over him?

And in the next instant, he wondered why he cared.


	3. trois

* * *

_**Beyond the Rising Sun**_

_**iii.**_

There was fire everywhere.

The searing heat blistered his skin, and the choking fumes clogged his throat and poisoned his lungs and tortured his eyes, causing tears to slide down his cheeks only to evaporate instantly in the sheer, impossible heat that hung in the arid air like a physical presence.

Coughing harshly and trying to breathe through the night-black smoke, Zuko raised a fist to his mouth and waved the other, as if he could shove the noxious clouds away. He couldn't see a thing in the inferno, and he stumbled forward blindly, the ground beneath his boots the only orientation he had. His limbs screamed for oxygen, but they were denied along with his lungs, the greedy flames devouring all the air; he staggered to his knees, hands plunging forward and impacting, to his disorientated bewilderment, with something wet and cool.

Desperate, he crawled forward, waves now lapping around him, and his hands and knees sank into the giving sand as he ventured further into the bay. Submerging, he nearly cried out as the salt stung his sensitive, burnt skin, and his scar ached tenfold, hypersensitive from the heat. His lungs empty, swimming underwater proved impossible for any sort of distance, and he was forced to surface, weakly treading in the midst of the ocean.

Zuko swung his head from side to side, but the smoke had drifted out across the waters, and he could barely see past his shoulders, let alone any sort of landmark to determine his position.

And then, suddenly, he was being dragged along the water's surface as if he were trapped in some reverse undertow, skipping along like an expertly thrown stone. He stopped as abruptly as he had begun, held vertical a dozen feet above the bay by a thick waterwhip. He glanced around for his attacker; the waterbender had pulled him out of the smoke, and his heart tried to simultaneously leap into his throat and drop into his stomach as his tearing, bloodshot amber eyes met furious ice blue ones.

"You burned Kyoshi!" Katara yelled at him, twitching her fingers and tightening the already-tight waterwhip. Her element compressed his body, forcing the little air he had managed to inhale from his lungs and causing his ribs to crack under the pressure.

He only stared at her in pained confusion, and she bared her teeth, apparently angry at his silence.

"Don't you get it? You and your stupid firebending torched the whole island!" she accused, the whip constricting further, and white-hot pain lanced from his toes to his hairline, blossoming most strongly in his chest as his splintering ribs pierced soft tissue.

"Katara—" he managed to croak, blood welling up in his throat and bubbling from his pale lips.

"And you know what's worst, Zuko?" she spat, tears now freely streaking her cheeks as well. "Aang and Sokka and Suki and Toph tried to evacuate the island, get all the civilians out, and you know what? They _died_! You killed them! You killed all of them!"

He tried to deny it, but the only sound he made was a weak gurgle as more sticky vermillion leaked from his mouth, staining his lips and chin and neck.

"_You killed them!_" she yelled, and her fingers completed their journey to closed fists.

Zuko woke so abruptly and so violently he lurched right off his bed, landing jarringly on the hard, cool metal floor of his ship. His elbow and hip flared briefly with sharp pain, and with a low groan, he pushed himself to a sitting position, leaning back against his bed. With trembling fingers, he pinched the bridge of his nose and forced himself to remember reality.

"It's the summer solstice," he muttered, needing to hear the words aloud—thinking them just wasn't real enough after a nightmare of that intensity. "Kyoshi Island has not been burned. Aang and the others aren't dead, and Katara does not want to kill me. Just a dream…it was all _just a dream_…" He trailed off with a shake of his head and dug his fingers deeper.

He laughed weakly, not amused in the slightest but needing to do something to express his pure relief. "Agni, some dream," he added, rising slowly to his feet and draping his blankets back onto the bed; they had followed him in his mad leap from the mattress. Taking time to preoccupy himself, Zuko paid special attention to tucking the blanket in and smoothing it out until there were no ripples in the fabric. Once he had completed that, he slumped before his row of candles and immediately initiated meditation.

In and out. Swell and shrink. Inhale, exhale. Focus on the control. In and out.

The mantra wandered almost absently through his mind, present on the fringes of his conscious, the majority of his thought focused on the flickering flames. He desperately needed the serenity of meditation and more than that, he needed the reassurance that he had control, that he remained securely on the proper side of the fine line that separated controlled firebending from wholesale destruction.

In and out. I didn't burn Kyoshi. Swell and shrink. She doesn't hate me. Inhale, exhale.

_It was just a dream._

At length, his heart once again beating at a respectable pace and his breathing deep and even, Zuko slowly opened his eyes and stared half-lidded at the tiny flames. Closing his eyes, he exhaled a long, slow sigh, and his cabin was thrown into darkness as the candles extinguished. Unbothered by the dark, the Fire Lord stood and found the door without mishap, shoving it open and padding down the dimly lit corridor beyond. He ascended the metal rungs to the deck, and some inner, doubting part of him finally fell silent as he gazed at the pristine, completely uncharred contours of Kyoshi Island.

The dawn of the longest day of the year had barely broken, and Zuko leaned his bare forearms on the ship's starboard rail and drank in the utter stillness: only the ship rocked slightly beneath his feet as it rode the gentle swells of the Giant Koi Bay's tides. He remained there, motionless, for innumerable minutes as the sun crept higher in the sky, the dusty grays of dawn melting into the sharper blues of day. No sounds of life emanated from his ship yet, but it was still relatively early, and he pushed away from the railing with the intention of beginning his morning exercises when he finally caught sight of someone else.

Something twisted uncomfortably in his chest when he recognized the dark hair and blue robe. His nightmare flashed before his mind's eye, and the image of her, vengeful and filled with hatred, caused his step to falter, his foot taking longer than it should have to reconnect with the deck.

"Just a dream," he reminded himself, and he completed his walk to the port side, resting his hands on the raised lip and watching her. She didn't seem aware of his observance, as she made no indication, and Katara was the kind of girl who would let you know.

His nightmare faded in prominence in his mind as she shrugged out of her robe, the blue material pooling at her feet and revealing her usual wraps. Zuko had a feeling he shouldn't keep watching, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from her slender, lithe form as she waded into the bay, ducked under, and resurfaced, whipping her drenched tresses from her face with a careless, flawless motion. She shifted easily into a bending stance, and the water curled around her, attentive to her every beck and call as she pushed it this way and that, rolling the surface like an expert baker rolling dough.

Zuko blinked, swallowed, and looked away, focusing his attention instead on a wholly unremarkable boulder that lounged half in the water in the completely opposite direction. The rock was uninteresting, and he couldn't say the same for Katara; he didn't remember feeling like this around her before, and it was unnerving, to say the least. She was his best friend, not…not…He couldn't finish the thought, not even within the safe confines of his conscious. So he stared obstinately at the boulder instead, determined to ignore the subtle desires that tried to turn his head back and also determined to regain his composure.

Fate seemed to be working against him, though, as he was hailed in a familiar voice.

"Hey! Zuko!"

He whipped his head back far too fast for his comfort and saw her waving energetically. He raised one limp hand, the gesture half-hearted due to conflict, but she didn't seem deterred in the slightest. One second she was standing in the shallows, and the next a magnificent swell of water was depositing her gently on the deck beside him. She flicked the water from her body with an offhand gesture, and he stared resolutely at her eyes and absolutely nothing else.

"Geez, Zuke, you're up early," she remarked, and she gestured to his state of dress, or more like undress, with a laugh.

He glanced down at himself; he always slept in a loose pair of pants, and he had been shirtless around her on numerous accounts, but he had never felt so self-conscious before. Consequently, he crossed his arms on his bare chest in what he hoped was a nonchalant way.

"Well, you know, I rise with the sun and all that," he attempted to joke, his voice still a little hoarse from sleep. He swallowed to ease the rasp and added, "But you're up pretty early yourself."

She shrugged, folding her own arms, and leaned back against the rail. "I had to get my bending in sometime today. After all, it _is_ the wedding, and once that all starts, it won't stop for a long time."

She smiled at the thought, but when all he managed in response was a curt nod, his expression taut, the smile faded to a more thoughtful, concerned frown.

"You okay?" she asked softly, turning and resting one hand on his shoulder. He flinched at the contact, a reaction she could not fail to notice. "Zuko, talk to me," she continued, even gentler. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he assured her, not about to admit that his reaction was halfway due to the electricity that had lanced between their skin at her touch. "I just…" he sighed irritably, unwilling to confess something so childish, but finished anyway. "I had a bad dream. That's all."

He had hoped that would finish her line of inquiry, but that wasn't the case.

"What about?" she asked, and Zuko wondered if Aang ever wished she wouldn't dig so deep for answers.

"It was stupid," he dismissed, throwing in a shrug for good measure.

"I'm sure it wasn't stupid," she dismissed in turn, her fingers giving his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "If it upset you, I want to hear about it. I want to help."

He glanced at her sidelong, not wanting to continue this conversation; he had never, after all, been entirely comfortable with discussing his feelings on anything, even with Iroh. But the absolute sincerity in her face caught him off guard, and his mouth babbled on without any approval from his brain.

"Kyoshi was burning," he said brusquely. "And I was the one responsible. It was like four years ago, except so much worse…" He let it hang at that, definitely not about to add the part where she had killed him.

And then his face was on fire. She had pulled him into an unexpected hug, and he stiffened in the embrace before marginally relaxing. Her arms were secure around his back, her head tucked beneath his chin, and her skin, still cool from the water, was refreshing pressed against his. She drew back before he had recovered enough of his mind to return the embrace, and he found himself disappointed. He liked the way she had fit against his body…almost as if she belonged there.

He blinked and told himself for the tenth time that he was being stupid.

"Zuko, that's all in the past," she told him, looking him straight in the eyes. "You don't need to beat yourself up over it. You saw the reception you got here yesterday—no one hates you for that mistake. All's forgiven. So cheer up because today's going to be a beautiful day."

He cracked a crooked smile, mostly for her benefit, unable to deny the truth in her words.

If she were anywhere in his line of sight, today was going to be very beautiful, indeed.

* * *

Katara handed command of the waves back over to the unseen moon, wading from the shallows and onto the flat expanse of wet sand. Zuko stood below the tideline, his body smoothly flowing from motion to motion as he completed his exercises. No flames spurted from his limbs, but as was often the case in firebending—or at least the brand that Iroh taught—fire was a secondary consideration.

She smiled at him warmly, and he returned it easily. Being around her, even for a little while, had softened his bewildering reactions to her, and things were settling back into their old, familiar rhythm.

"It was nice to have a different partner for once," she said breezily.

Zuko frowned slightly. "Aang's…he's not…what?" he finally grabbed, unable to properly phrase his confusion.

She waved one slender, tan hand, a gesture not entirely pointless when she retracted a little bit of water from her steadily drying hair. "He slacks about staying at the top of his game sometimes, but most of the time he's so exhausted from, well, from being the Avatar that he can't practice with me at all. It's rare that we actually get a good spar in, like we did before you came." She shrugged. "You're so intense about it, it was kinda nice to have someone around equally devoted."

"I would hardly describe Aang as not devoted to his bending," Zuko remarked, running a hand through his shaggy hair; the black strands sucked in the heat of the beating sun, and ruffling them helped cool him off.

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant," Katara corrected herself. "He's the Avatar and all, so of course he is, but then again," and here she smiled fondly, "he's still Aang, too, and therefore a firm believer in pleasure before work. Or, at least, not more work before work!"

Zuko smiled at both the truth and the contradictions in that, slanting a glance back towards his vessel. "I should probably get back to the ship. Y'know, actually get dressed and all that."

She paused mid-thought, apparently finally grasping their clothing situation, and nodded. "Good point. Now where'd I…aha…" Twisting a tiny waterwhip, she hooked the collar of her robe and summoned it to her side. She slipped into the blue garment, fastening it securely around her waist, and Zuko—getting used to her or not—felt some of the edge leave his system with no lack of gratitude. Her eyes flickered back to him, and she beckoned that he follow.

"C'mon," she offered, "I'll give you a lift."

He stepped next to her at the meeting of shore and sea, the waves lapping gently around his bare feet, and then suddenly he was in the air, riding the crest of a rising swell. The sudden wind of motion blasted his hair back, and as he took a sidelong glance at her, the situation seemed eerily familiar. He wondered, not for the first time, what would have happened if he hadn't sided with Azula in the catacombs beneath Ba Sing Se all those years ago. Katara would never have been in this position—riding a gigantic wave, back then to Aang's rescue—because she had been about to defeat Azula before he had interfered and turned the tide of the battle.

He frowned deeply. And Aang never would've almost died, and he never would've dated Mai, and he never would've betrayed his uncle, and Katara might've healed his scar…He raised a hand unconsciously, his fingertips brushing against the ridged tissue. What would life have been like if he hadn't been such an idiot? Could the war have ended sooner? Would he have been able to bring about Ozai's downfall on the day of black sun? And Katara never would've hated him because he never would've betrayed her trust…

_"The Fire Nation took my mother away from me."_

_"I'm sorry. That's something we have in common."_

_"I thought you had changed!"_

_"I have changed!"_

_"I'm not ready to forgive Yan Ra. But…I am ready to forgive you."_

He didn't even realize they had reached the deck of his ship until Katara gently touched his shoulder, the voices from the past thrumming too loudly in his ears.

"Uh, Zuko?" she asked, shaking him a little to wake him from his reverie.

He blinked several times, regaining his bearings in the present. "Oh, sorry. I guess I got lost in thought."

She managed to combine a carefree laugh with an appraisingly raised eyebrow. "Not the safest thing to be doing, Zuke—forgetting that you're standing atop gigantic waves and all. A bit precarious."

He smiled, grateful she hadn't read into his silence; she'd already been understanding enough for one day. "Next time I'll be more alert," he promised, his hands sliding into a firebender's salute.

She stifled another laugh, playing along with his mock formality. "Next time, Almighty Fire Lord? Who said there'd be a next time?"

He strode across the deck, glancing at her over his shoulder. "You're going to make me swim to shore?" he asked, his voice ringing with false incredulity and just a touch of petulance.

"Go put some clothes on already," she called back, still lounging against the railing. She shifted her weight onto her feet, though, when Iroh emerged from the lower decks, his aged face wrinkling further as he smiled.

"Good morning, my nephew. Ah, Katara, it is good to see you," Iroh said, ambling past the other firebender and towards the girl.

"General Iroh," she intoned, performing a graceful bow.

Zuko hid a smirk as he climbed down the ladder. It amused him to no end that she obeyed all rules of decorum concerning his uncle and nearly everyone else in the world but completely ignored propriety where he and Aang were considered. The Avatar alone deserved reverence, and he deserved almost as much as Fire Lord, but she was never anything less than comfortably friendly with either of them.

It was but the work of a minute for him to return to his cabin and slip into some casual robes; the wedding wasn't for hours yet, and with his luck, he would spill something on his ceremonial attire should he don it already. The black and gold tunic was soft and worn with age and use, and he trailed his fingers along the slightly singed edges before he overlapped the cloth on his chest—the damage from Azula's lightning still remained. He had kept the shirt for sentimental reasons…the part where he had saved Katara and finally solidified their friendship, not the part where his own sister had tried to kill him.

Shaking his head of the memories and subsequently tousling his hair, Zuko tucked his feet into his usual boots before he strode briskly back to the upper deck. He wasn't in any hurry here, but he had grown so accustomed to rushing everywhere back in the capital—from this meeting to that, always fighting time and political gravity in his efforts to keep his nation standing—that haste seemed permanently embedded in his steps. Katara and Iroh, then, had barely begun chatting when he swept back into their midst.

"Shall we?" he said brusquely, stepping towards the starboard rail and fixing her with a meaningful look.

Katara glanced between the two men before she focused solely on the elder. "General, would you like to join us? We were going to grab some breakfast in the village…"

Iroh waved one broad hand, a rich chuckle emanating from the very depths of his stomach. "I would just slow you young people down! No, I am fine here. I have my jasmine tea already brewing in my quarters. Which reminds me…" he trailed off contemplatively and turned from them, offering a wave before he descended below decks once more.

Zuko looked a little sour. "How is it that you, a peasant-born waterbender, can have better manners than me, the sole sovereign of the Fire Nation?"

She smiled winningly, skimming over the insult with the ease born of her ancient familiarity with it. "Maybe I'm just a nicer person," she replied teasingly, and as soon as the words left her mouth, she was vaulting over the ship's edge and onto her summoned swell.

Zuko scowled, still feeling rather rude for not thinking to invite his uncle, but stepped—with considerably more caution—onto the wave anyway. He still wasn't quite used to the phenomenon that was waterbending, and while he trusted Katara, he couldn't quite quell his apprehensive doubts as he eased his weight onto a surface that shouldn't have been able to support it. But the water only bowed slightly beneath his feet, and the rush of wind swept his hair back again as she guided them to the white-sand shore.

He didn't even really see how she did it: one instant they were riding a huge wave and the next the tides were spilling around their grounded feet. He began across the sand, commenting, "You know, you're probably the best waterbender I've ever seen…probably the best ever, actually."

"Ah, cheer up, Zuko!" she chirped. "I'm sure that, comparatively, you're _almost_ as good a bender as me!"

"Har har," he grumbled, jamming his hands into his pockets and childishly kicking at an errant shell. She huffed and, latching onto his arm with both of hers, gave an almighty heave.

He considered resisting, but then he couldn't fathom why in the next instant, so he allowed her to pull him into the village, which largely still slumbered. Appa's bulk was visible beneath the towering effigy of Kyoshi, and while Zuko couldn't see from this distance, he could picture Aang sprawled on the bison's broad tail, snoring uproariously. Some things wouldn't have changed with time, after all.

But then he glanced down to where her arms were still wrapped around his, and he acknowledged, with the same contented feeling, that other things did.

"C'mon," she was saying when he tuned back into the conversation. "Back at my place—well, the place the Water Tribe has commandeered for the wedding—we've got lots of food. And no, don't worry," she said, catching sight of his less-than-enthused features, "I won't make you eat stewed sea prunes. I know you ate them that one time to be a good sport, but I saw you and Aang making gagging faces afterwards."

"It must be an acquired taste," he offered graciously, although he couldn't keep from grinning.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm sure eating everything half-charred is an acquired taste, too."

"Hey, hey," he protested, leaning away from her as if she suddenly repulsed him. "Just because we're _fire_benders doesn't mean we burn everything we cook to a crisp! I made that mistake one time back then, and Sokka couldn't let it go…" he mumbled into silence, shaking his head.

She nearly doubled over in laughter at the memory, needing to cling more to his arm to stay upright. "Oh, spirits, that's right! Although Sokka shouldn't be saying anything—of all people! He's the worst cook in the history of forever…thinks rocks are nuts…"

"Remember when he _ate_ one?" Zuko snorted.

"And then he was choking and we all thought he was just kidding so we didn't do anything…until Toph earthbent right into his gut, and out it went!" Katara gasped, tears practically streaming down her face as she pantomimed said rock's trajectory in the air.

Zuko threw back his head, his laughs shaking his broad shoulders, and Katara swayed into his chest, giggling so hard she wasn't even making any sound. Somewhere in his mind, he knew logically that the incident, while amusing then, wasn't nearly hilarious enough to justify such a reaction now. He was so serious all the time, though, so burdened with the mantle of Fire Lord, that it felt amazingly good to laugh and laugh and _laugh_ for no reason except that he could.

"Do I even want to know what I'm interrupting?"

His chuckles died in his throat as the familiar, aridly dry, sarcastic monotone reached his ears. He blinked the tears from his eyes, his whole body stiffening as his mood dramatically sobered. Katara had composed herself as well, and she eased away from him, aware that hanging all over another girl's boyfriend in front of that girl was never the wisest idea…especially when this girl was as adept with knives as Mai.

"Just some reminiscing," Katara replied smoothly, glancing briefly at Zuko. "Which probably took a funnier turn than strictly necessary. Actually, we were on our way to get some breakfast, would—"

"I would like to talk to Zuko alone," Mai interjected, her tone as honed as her knife's edge.

The waterbender pursed her lips for a moment at the blunt dismissal, but apparently she'd taken a page out of Aang's book, as she simply swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah, of course. See you around, Zuke."

Zuko mirrored her stiff nod, unable to shake the feeling that he was about to endure a dressing-down by his mother—although in his case, it might be more akin to being challenged to an Agni Kai by his father.

Mai's eyebrow arched, and as she'd long since grown out her thick bangs, he could view the full condescension of the gesture. "Zuke?" she echoed, derision flavoring her monotone. "What is _Zuke_?"

"I don't know, Mai," he said with heavy patience. "The first syllable of my name?"

Her feline eyes, already narrow, shrank further. "It's shocking to think that I was almost looking forward to seeing you," she said, the words bitten off sharply like a snapped chocolate bar, "only to find you snuggling up to some Water Tribe peasant."

Hearing Mai use his standard jibe somehow made it sting like it never had before, and his jaw clenched. One hand rose, his forefinger jabbing at her sternly. "Don't call Katara that. And don't jump to conclusions. We're friends."

The knife-thrower snorted. "Is that why she was all over you? Please, Zuko, I'm not an idiot."

"She wasn't—well, she _was_, but not in a—arrgh, Mai, why're you so damn infuriating?" he demanded, his previously accusatory fingers now fiercely meshed in his hair.

"I'm infuriating?" she echoed, incredulous. "What about _you_, Zuko? I thought after the war ended things would be easy, but they just got more difficult. You became Fire Lord and suddenly I became last priority!"

Zuko glared at her, astounded, before he exploded. "_What?_ I had a country to fix and to save and to try desperately to keep _clinging to life_, and you're angry because I didn't have time to listen to you complain about how much you hate every Agni-damn thing in this world? Hell, Mai! You were the one who never supported me—you practically ignored me, ran away to this stupid island to make-believe everything was as it had been!"

Her amber eyes flashed with the same lethal glint that was her victims' last sight. "That's your excuse for cheating on me?" she fairly screeched, if a monotone could be pitched to such octaves.

"Chea—_I'm not cheating on you!_" Zuko exclaimed, ready to pull his hair out by the fistful. "Stop twisting absolutely everything—how much did Azula rub off on you, for Agni's sake? Katara is my _friend_ and you're just seeing what you want to see and…and wait…" he trailed off, lightning striking by virtue of his own mis-phrase. "Why would you _want_ to see that?"

Mai's lips pressed into a nearly invisible line, far thinner and whiter than usual. "You know what, Zuko? Our relationship is worse off than the Fire Nation, and that's saying a lot. I don't think we can keep this one clinging to life, do you?"

Some of the tension bled out of his frame, his shoulders slumping a few notches. "No," he admitted, the word both heavy and soft.

She regarded him in studious silence for a long moment. "It's ironic—when we were little, I always imagined that you'd be the most perfect boyfriend. The prince of the nation, handsome even then, and so much nicer than Azula…but you were the worst boyfriend possible."

He smiled humorlessly. "If it's any consolation, Mai, you were worse."

Her lips twitched in genuine amusement, and he felt rather wrong-footed. She had just been furious at him for cheating, but then she went and broke up with him and acted like it was no big deal? Had she lost her mind like his sister, or had she only been fishing for a decent reason? He was leaning heavily towards the latter…she wanted an excuse.

"For the record, Zuko," she said as she turned to go, "_I_ dumped _you_."

He smirked, remembering her admonition three years ago when they'd gotten back together. At least there was one promise he hadn't broken. He watched her walk away for a few seconds before he followed after Katara, feeling the slightest bit lighter.


	4. quatre

* * *

**_Beyond the Rising Sun_**

_**iv.**_

"Ouch!" Suki yelped, pulling away reflexively and shooting her soon-to-be-sister-in-law an irritated glare over her shoulder. "There's a _head_ under all this hair, Katara! Try not to stab it _too_ repeatedly!"

The waterbender flinched, winced, and smiled guiltily in very quick succession. "Sorry, Suki," she said, patting the thick locks in an apologetic manner and fortunately remembering at the last instant to flip the ornamental pin the other way.

"It's alright," Suki replied, eyeing the mirror and her half-done hair. "Just…try not to do it again. And by _again_ I mean not a fourth time."

"Yeah, Katara," Toph called from the corner of Suki's ready-room, where she lounged gracelessly on a pile of cushions with her bare feet waving in the air. "The way you're attacking her head, I would be a better choice for hairdresser. And we all know—"

"I'm sorry, I was distracted, won't happen again," Katara reeled off, her blue eyes focused more intensely than necessary on her friend's head. She was grateful that Suki had grown her hair out some, since her short bob of years past would've been difficult to whip into anything remotely fancy—at least, given her limited experience with Water Tribe ceremonies, as the women of her culture all seemed to favor rather long hair. It wasn't quite as helpful as she had hoped, though, since her fingers had already slipped several times when trying to place the locks just so.

"What do you have to be distracted about?" Toph asked, and Katara was almost surprised by the rare show of concern until the petite earthbender added, "You're not the one doomed to Snoozle's side for all of eternity. Well, you are kinda, but being his sister means you can run away if absolutely necessary."

"Har har," Suki returned, but she was smiling. Except for when the waterbender had accidentally pricked her with hair pins, her broad grin had not left her face.

Katara determinedly continued setting Suki's hair, hoping that Toph would've lost her line of inquiry amongst all the sarcasm. Besides, she wasn't really up to explaining, especially since it seemed wrong somehow to be thinking about this…even though it never had before…

"I'm waiting, Sugar Queen," Toph said with a mocking sing-song lilt. "You'll have to cough up sooner or later, or I might be forced to start calling you 'Needle Queen' or something else more appropriate…"

The bride's smile took on a knowing quality as she watched her friend in the mirror. "You're thinking about Aang, aren't you? It's the whole wedding situation, isn't it? Gets you thinking…"

Katara flushed horribly and nearly skewered Suki's ear. She had always been violent in her emotional-physical reactions: she blushed at the slightest innuendo, cried at the vaguest mention of her mother—although, she was proud to admit, she had been steadily getting better at the latter—and Suki's assumption wasn't helping her already-harried thoughts.

And there was no reason for her distraction, anyway. Zuko had almost seemed happy regarding his break-up with Mai—or at the very least, he hadn't been upset—so she shouldn't be worrying about him when she was wielding sharp objects near her friend's head. She couldn't help feeling responsible somehow, even though Zuko had assured her that their friendship had nothing to do with the death of his relationship. But the break-up had happened directly after Mai had witnessed them together, and it seemed like too much of a coincidence…

"She's doing it again," Toph sang out, hopping to her feet and straightening her dress only a little; it remained mostly rumpled and askew from her apathetic lounging. "Duck for cover, Fanny."

Suki instinctively obeyed, although Katara snapped back to the present in enough time to deter the pin from making too much contact. A slew of apologies followed, and Suki graciously straightened again; she was tenser than usual, but that was to be expected. Toph leaned against the wall beside the mirror, as if appointing herself as the protector of Suki's scalp.

"Trouble in paradise, Sugar Queen?" Toph inquired idly, crossing her arms on her chest and turning foggy eyes in Katara's general direction. "I can feel your tension, you know; it's like all your muscles seized up or something."

"There's no trouble," Katara quickly denied. "Aang and I are…are fine. This has nothing to do with him. Not that _this_ is anything at all, because this is nothing, and I don't even know what…" She trailed off with a sigh and finally—and with great care—inserted the last pin. "There we go," she babbled on, feeling slightly giddy with relief that she hadn't drawn any blood with her carelessness. "You're all set…like it?"

Suki beamed, delicately patting the complicated thing her hair had become. "It's beautiful…thank you!"

Toph rolled her sightless eyes. "Well, as long as it looks good after she's stabbed you to death."

Katara scowled uselessly and returned her attention to the older girl. She had to admit that she was proud of her handiwork, regardless of how long or dangerous a road it had taken to get there, and she draped her arms around Suki's shoulders, half-hugging her.

"Sokka's not gonna know what hit him," she teased good-naturedly, grinning at their reflections.

Toph grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like _Sokka never knows what hits him and it's usually that stupid boomerang_, but Suki wasn't paying her any attention. After a moment of quiet thought and review, she simply reached up and squeezed one of Katara's hands.

"Thank you," she said.

"Thank me later," Katara replied with a laugh, turning away momentarily and snatching a heavy box. She flipped the lid open and selected the rouge.

"Oh, spirits," Toph groaned theatrically. "It never ends. I'm going outside where things make sense and don't involve make-up."

"As long as you don't smudge yours," Katara called after her without turning her head. "I won't have time to redo it between Suki and myself."

The earthbender waved as she exited the hut. "Uh-huh. No wiping it off or jumping in mud puddles: got it!" she rejoined cheerily, disappearing down the steps and beyond the wall.

Katara rolled her eyes before resuming her work. "That girl…I swear, even at sixteen she's still a complete tomboy. Anyway…you won't be wearing nearly as much as your usual Kyoshi standard, but I think Sokka will still recognize you. He got used to you sans paint in the Fire Nation, after all."

Suki smiled at the memory but swiftly reclaimed her apathetic pose to give Katara the easiest canvas. "So nothing's wrong with you and Aang?" she asked at length as the waterbender dusted blush across her cheeks. "You'd tell me, right, if there was? Because we're already sisters—marrying Sokka just makes it official."

The younger girl nodded absently. "Of course I'd tell you. I already said there's nothing wrong. Aang's still Aang and I'm still me, and nothing's changed since we got together." She grinned quickly, although the expression seemed somewhat forced. "Today's your day," she continued, switching the conversation to a different track. "So let's focus on you."

"If you must," Suki agreed airily, and they both laughed at that. Once they quieted, though, Katara's own words hung in her head, echoing tauntingly.

_Nothing's changed_—it was frightening how much truth resided in those words.

* * *

Half an hour before the ceremony, Katara took leave of her friend, relinquishing her to the company of the Kyoshi Warriors, who were acting like some sort of honor guard, all members in full regalia with their fans at the ready. The waterbender's work was done, though, and she needed to get to the center of town, where the guests were gathered beneath the gigantic Avatar statue.

Before she got there, though, a familiar orange-garbed figure dropped out of the heavens to land at her side.

"Where've you been, Katara?" Aang asked, snapping his glider shut and adjusting his wooden necklace, which had gone askew from his flight.

"Girl stuff," she dismissed with a shrug, allowing him to take her arm.

Aang glanced at her quietly and then said, as if imparting a great secret, "You look nice."

She pretended to look put-upon at such a mediocre compliment, but then her eyes narrowed in suspicion and her hand moved to his chin, looking for all the world like a white-gloved butler expecting to find dust. What she found caused her to sigh in exasperation.

"Aang, you didn't shave?" she half-exclaimed, half-demanded. "You can't be all scruffy for the wedding!"

The Avatar pouted, pulling his chin from her hand and rubbing the stubble himself. "I already shaved my entire head today; isn't that work enough? And besides, solidarity with the groom—Sokka's got the whole scruffy look down…"

"Sokka actually has a beard, not last night's stubble," Katara corrected briskly. "Go shave."

"Sokka actually has a _goatee_," Aang said, a little sourly.

"Do you want me to shave your chin for you?" she asked, sounding innocent.

Aang frowned a bit. "But you've never…you could hurt…hang on…"

She waggled her eyebrows. "Exactly."

The Avatar regarded her in silence for a long, drawn-out moment, and then he nodded his head abruptly. "Yeaaah. I think I'm gonna go shave now. Don't let them start without me!" He slipped away from her side, threw his glider into the air, and was aloft with a hop, skip, and a jump.

She laughed as he took to the air, yelling after him, "They can't, you know! You're kinda central to the ceremony! Important and all that!"

He laughed back, his reply carried on the wind. "Yeah…I know!"

Still grinning, Katara shook her head and watched him disappear beyond the rooftops. For all the stubble on his chin, Aang would never grow up: of that she was certain, and of that she was glad. If he ever lost that eternal youthfulness, she didn't know what she'd do. To begin with, she would probably whack him soundly upside the head and see if that knocked the sense back into him. She smiled wryly at her own thoughts. They didn't have the best romantic relationship, but they were definitely brilliant at being friends.

At the thought, her expression marred slightly, her earlier words ringing in her ears again. Nothing had changed, really, concerning their interaction, and she wondered idly if they'd actually regressed.

But he had dropped out of her sight, and she slipped her hands into the opposite sleeves and resumed her walk towards the impressive, newly-painted effigy of Kyoshi. Now was not the time to dwell on her and Aang's potential problems, or the fact that she always decided that _now was not the time_; now was the time to focus on her brother and Suki and all things happy. Her determination to enjoy herself smoothed the frown lines from her face, and the spring reappeared in her step. She had hardly gone a dozen feet before she was hailed again, this time by more grounded people with accents impossible to misplace, and she turned to face the two firebenders.

Zuko and Iroh approached from the direction of the bay, both of them decked out in Fire Nation finery and therefore swathed in silk robes in varying shades of red and black and brown and gold. The elder's face was nearly lost in the plethora of wrinkles that radiated from his impossibly large grin, and the younger sported his usual small smile.

"Good day, Katara," Iroh greeted, nodding his head in acknowledgement of her bow. "You look lovely." He swallowed her slender hand in his broad mitt and twirled her. She laughed brightly, icy eyes shining in the sunlight.

"Thank you, General," she replied. "I'll have to save you a dance after the celebration."

Iroh chuckled gruffly, one hand resting on his round belly. "Yes, yes, I'd be delighted. I would abandon my sumki horn for nothing less."

Zuko snorted. "Huh, I would _play_ the sumki horn for nothing less," he remarked with lighthearted sarcasm.

Katara flashed him a grin. "Well, then, Zuko, to spare everyone from your surely talented rendition, I'll have to avoid dancing with you altogether."

She laughed again as she said it, and Zuko knew she was joking, but it still caused his smile to falter the slightest bit. He had been counting on spending the majority of the reception in her company, and the most fleeting suggestion that he would not be able to invoked a strange little pang in his chest. It calmed almost instantly, but he still couldn't help feeling vaguely unsettled by the proclamation.

Katara's face fell, too, and she worried her lip and sent him a guilty look. "I probably shouldn't, anyway…I don't want to make things worse between you and Mai."

Zuko blinked, returning to the present, and stared at her incredulously. "What? Are you still beating yourself up over that? Katara, I already told you, our break-up had nothing to do with you. Mai was looking for a reason to do it—probably has for a long time—and you were just the catalyst. It was dying relationship," he added, since her expression had worsened from his poor attempts at reassurance. "It was best that it ended sooner rather than later. I'm practically grateful, really, so please don't be all sorry."

"If you say so," she allowed, still somewhat doubtful, but then she rallied herself, smiling once more. "Let's move on to happier things, shall we? There's a wedding to attend!"

Iroh offered her his arm, which she accepted, and Zuko felt a flicker of annoyance for not beating his uncle to the punch…again. He had already missed the opportunity to comment on her appearance—doing so now would seem far too obvious—and it was a shame because she really was beautiful. He had rarely ever seen her out of her standard Water Tribe outfit, and the dress she wore now emphasized the fact that she moved with all the grace of her element; before this, he would have declared that she could become no more beautiful, but now he had to revise that train of thought.

He shook himself from his daydreams—_inappropriate_ daydreams, he rebuked, because she was still the Avatar's girlfriend, his good friend's girlfriend, and his best friend to boot. There were some lines he would not allow himself to cross.

Luckily, he recovered his sense in time to sit between her and his uncle. The sun glared down hotly from its cloudless domain, relishing in its longest journey across the azure heavens; there was a crisp breeze blowing off the bay, though, and Zuko was not uncomfortable in the slightest. In fact, with Iroh on his left and Katara on his right, he felt surrounded by the people he loved most…except his mother, of course, was not present. He frowned faintly, more with his brow than his mouth, and wished bitterly for the thousandth time that Ozai would just reveal her whereabouts already.

Again, he was pulled from his private musings when Katara's arm pressed into his; he glanced sidelong and saw it was because she had leaned away from the Avatar, who was practically clinging to the back of her chair and hunched over. He had his neck thrust forward turtle-like, and he grinned his usual grin that put the sun to shame.

"See, Tara? Clean-shaven!" he declared, rubbing his stubble-free chin with one hand for emphasis.

"I'm so proud," Katara quipped, smirking, and she patted his cheek. "Now as long as you don't forget your lines, the ceremony will get off without a hitch."

Aang wrinkled his nose. "Ugh, you sound like Toph. Although she was worse—I think she said, _Don't freak out, Twinkletoes! Just imagine everyone in their underwear!_ Like that was supposed to make me feel better, right? I've addressed so many dignitaries without breaking a sweat, so of course this was going to be no problem—I wasn't nervous at all—and she had to go and plant something like that in my mind…I could almost make her wear shoes for this," he grumbled, half-threatening.

Katara's smirk had definitely acquired a devious undertone. "Just don't look at Aunt Wu," she suggested wickedly.

"Oh, _spirits_," Aang groaned, collapsing on her shoulders, his chin falling to her collar and arms draping loosely forward. His voice, when he spoke again, was slightly muffled. "Not nice, Katara…_not nice_. Eww…"

Katara laughed heartily while Zuko snickered, and she prodded the Avatar gently. "Get up, Aang. You've got a ceremony to perform."

He unfolded, straightening to his full height and still grimacing. "Yeah, with my eyes closed," he complained good-naturedly, and he swept down and pecked her swiftly on the lips.

Zuko looked away, something deep in his gut curling tightly.

He didn't face forward again until the blur of orange and yellow that was the Avatar had moved to the front of the guests in his peripheral vision, at which time his stomach had ceased roiling. He watched the ceremony proceed in a hazy sort of daze, slipping in and out of a reverie. He told himself that his imagination's active replacement of Sokka with himself was a natural thing to do in this situation, and the fact that Katara kept taking Suki's place was just because she was the only female that made any sense in the context, since Mai certainly didn't fit anymore.

Consequently, he didn't pay a great deal of attention to the wedding itself, too preoccupied with trying to erase the image of Katara gazing up at him with all the love Suki's face showed for Sokka.

It's not right, he reminded himself sternly. I don't like her that way. I can't like her that way.

_I can't_.

He tried valiantly to ignore the fact that he was starting to, anyway.

* * *

The warm glow of evening washed over Kyoshi Island, throwing long shadows and coating the spaces between in molten gold. Beneath the sunbathed Avatar statue, the reception was in full swing, music and laughter drifting up to hover in the sultry air.

Zuko leaned back on his hands, stretching his very full stomach, and glanced about the party. Long, low tables had been arranged in a large square and lined with the best fares from each nation: Fire Nation stir fry, Air Nomad custard cakes, hearty Earth Kingdom meats, Water Tribe stews (which Zuko steered clear of), and everything else imaginable. The tables sagged beneath the weight of all the delicious choices, and Zuko slowly reached for his sake dish, not desiring to put undue strain on his abdomen.

As he sipped his drink, he observed the people dancing in the empty space created by the tables: the music had just transitioned from the upbeat Ba Sing Se Reel to a more traditional Earth Kingdom waltz, and the dancers all paired off, twirling around in deceptively slow-looking circles. His sharp golden eyes roved the many faces, searching for Katara. She had sprung up from her meal long ago, and she hadn't sat down once; Aang had claimed the first dance, but since then, he hadn't seen them together.

Hakoda and Suki spun by, and as they moved, he caught a glimpse of Aang and Ty Lee—a very light-footed couple, to say the least—and beyond them, across the floor, Toph and Teo snickering, undoubtedly making fun of the entire ritual of dancing as they quaffed sake like there was no tomorrow. Zuko could just imagine the derisive comments Toph must be making, and he shook his head, not completely able to contain an amused little smirk.

Sokka and Suki's mother briefly blocked his vision, and when they moved aside, he finally spotted Katara, laughing in the arms of Haru, who had fortunately grown into his mustache—although the shorter hair probably helped. And then she was gone again, vanishing amidst the dozens of other couples.

Zuko drained his dish and reached for the sake bottle, intent on refilling the vessel.

To his side, Iroh shifted on his cushion, still steadily stuffing his face with nearly everything he could reach, including the dubious and infamous sea prunes, which were currently being shoveled into his mouth. "Do not drink too much, my nephew," Iroh said cheerily around a mouthful of stewed prune. "I have yet to fetch my sumki horn, and I expect you to dance."

The Fire Lord rolled his eyes, but he only filled the dish halfway. "How can you eat that, Uncle? It tastes like rubbery…gross stuff," he finished, rather lamely.

Iroh's first reply was to lick his chopsticks clean with much relish, and then he winked knowingly at the younger man. "Zuko, you should acquire a taste for Water Tribe cuisine."

He was nonplussed. "Why?"

Iroh smiled broadly in an infuriating way. "I foresee much of it in your future," he remarked off-handedly, his eyes pointedly following Katara as she and Haru whisked by.

Zuko would have had to be incredibly dense not to get that implication; even though he flushed hotly, he largely ignored the comment, only glancing away and exhaling sharply through his nose.

Iroh chuckled, as if he had achieved a major victory, and helped himself to one of Aang's famous custard cakes. He had delved deeply into the fluffy pastry before Zuko felt the need to retort.

"You wouldn't understand," he grumbled, hunching forward and leaning his elbows on his knees.

"Oh?" his uncle replied, more as a prompt than any sort of challenge.

"No, because even I don't understand, so I can't imagine how you could," Zuko elaborated, heaving a sigh and swirling the clear liquid in his dish.

The former general nodded in a patient manner, musingly inspecting the frosting on his next piece of cake. At length, he said, "I know that you care deeply for her, and she for you. That is not hard to understand, and that is all that truly matters."

Zuko shot him a sidelong glance. "She's with the Avatar. I think that matters."

Iroh shrugged ambivalently. "You still have much to learn about destiny, my nephew. The most important aspect of destiny is that it can change, sometimes in the blink of an eye. You of all people should appreciate that."

"Katara is _not_ my destiny," Zuko scoffed, even though some part of him liked the idea.

"Perhaps not," Iroh agreed sagely, picking up the last few crumbs. "But think on this: the two of you have overcome almost impossible obstacles in your relationship thus far. I hardly think any of that happened by some mere whim of fate…more like by design."

Zuko gestured across the floor towards where Aunt Wu and Meng were seated and gossiping, most likely about the dance she had managed to steal with the Avatar. "I think you've been spending too much time with the fortune-teller," he said sourly.

Iroh grinned broadly. "I would like to spend more," he replied smoothly, rising easily to his feet, undisturbed by the amount of food packed in his stomach. "I think I shall have a dance with her, and after that, the dance I am owed by young Katara. And after that," he concluded with another conspiratorial wink, "I shall fetch my sumki horn and treat the happy couple to a rendition of the Waltz of the Phoenix."

The younger firebender's brow furrowed in confusion. "But, Uncle, that's a ceremonial court dance. No one here would know how to do it, except me, of course, and I can't do it alone."

Iroh's eyes curved into happy little crescents. "No one except a certain waterbender who learned the dance the last time she was in the Fire Nation capital."

Zuko flushed scarlet, and he brandished an accusatory finger at his uncle. "Matchmaker!" he spat, as if it were some sort of hideous curse. "She probably doesn't even remember—that was years ago!"

"Which is why I shall ask her when I dance with her," Iroh replied jovially, already moving around the tables to cross the floor to the fortune-teller's side.

Zuko stared after him in stark shock, his mouth hanging open uselessly: a fish out of water in more ways than one.

* * *

After gnawing frantically on one chopstick until the wood was riddled with teeth marks, Zuko received an epiphany. He was Zuko, the Fire Lord, and he did not have to submit to this—no sir! He would simply dance with Katara before Iroh could ruin everything with his grandiose ideas; Katara would surely understand. She wasn't the attention-seeking type, certainly not, and she definitely wouldn't want to make a spectacle, especially (regrettably) in front of Aang.

The firebender leapt to his feet, swaying slightly as the sake went straight to his head; he waited a moment for his vision to steady and leave him clear-minded once more. But the music slowed to a stop, and the dancers applauded the little group of musicians, and Iroh was crossing towards Katara…!

Zuko wanted to yell _stop_ at the top of his lungs, but that wouldn't be subtle. So he could only watch in rapidly congealing horror as his uncle bowed low before the waterbender and she accepted his hand. His insides writhing, Zuko crumpled back onto his cushion, his forehead connecting with the low table. He was doomed now—Katara wouldn't refuse a request from his uncle, the esteemed Dragon of the West, and that was that. The entire wedding party would get to witness him make a fool out of himself, although, admittedly, they probably wouldn't realize that was going on. Mai probably would, and perhaps Aang, but the rest would most likely remain safely oblivious.

Two people were enough.

And _Agni forbid_ that Katara realize what he was in full-blown denial about.

Zuko swallowed against his suddenly-dry throat, but he didn't dare drink more sake: his fate was sealed, and it didn't need any help from the rice wine. He merely sat there woodenly and stared bleakly at Katara and Iroh, and the latter appeared to be speaking. Katara was listening closely, and then she suddenly laughed, her head whipping around, as if she were looking for someone. And she was, as her gaze landed on Zuko and she flashed him an encouraging smile, complete with an excited lift of her eyebrows.

Zuko wondered belatedly if anyone would miss him should he drown himself in the Giant Koi Bay.

As the song dwindled to a close, Katara freed herself from the former general and weaved across the floor, hurrying around the corner of the table and approaching him. Zuko looked up weakly as she strode up to him and hoped he didn't look as bad as he felt.

"Hope you're ready!" she chirped, looking far too enthusiastic for Zuko's fragile composure. "I'll be right back, and that's when we'll do it, alright?"

She had already begun to move away into the stretching shadows; the sun had set some time ago, and dusky twilight offered the only light aside from the various torches and lamps strewn about the reception area. Zuko grabbed at her in vain and finally blurted, "Wait, where're you going?"

She gestured expansively to her dress. "I can't do the Waltz of the Phoenix in this, Zuko!" she told him, laughing. "I need to be able to move. I'll be right back!" she echoed, waving him off as she disappeared into the village proper.

Zuko had an unsettling image of the final damning tile that sealed his fate being slipped into place. Something crept down his spine, and he held his jaw so tightly shut that it ached. He had forgotten the particulars—he had been so nervous about the mere idea of dancing with her so publicly that he had neglected to recall the nature of the Fire Nation's most famous waltz. His people, by virtue of both their homeland's climate and their native element, were more passionate and sensual than the other three; the Badger Mole Two-Step, by comparison, was as tame as the Air Nomad's slowest group dance.

When firebenders called something a waltz, they actually meant a dance that was more like a cross of salsa and the tango, something fast and complex and intimate…

…and Katara said she needed to be able to _move_…

The color officially drained utterly from Zuko's already fair cheeks, and there was a fuzziness in his head that had nothing to do with alcohol. His mouth felt dry and cottony, as if he'd been running for miles and miles without any water, and he shakily rose to his feet and ventured from the circle of torchlight, operating on some sort of autopilot. He wouldn't be able to dance in his current attire, either, but luckily the Fire Nation was ostensibly fond of layering, so he easily stripped off the longer robes and hung them over a house's railing.

He stared at the discarded clothing as if he were about to do something unimaginably unspeakable, absently rubbing his hands up and down his bared arms. He counted to ten several times, trying to reclaim his panicking conscious, and began to wonder where Katara had gone—perhaps she had decided to drown herself in the bay, and perhaps he still had time to follow her lead—when she sauntered up the hill, wearing considerably less than before.

Zuko pointedly looked at the ground. She was sauntering, alright: that implied a certain sinuous motion of the hips, and the definition almost seemed an understatement. Zuko needed to stare at anything but her until she stopped walking like that. She did soon enough, pausing several feet away from him, and she giggled; he froze solid, his muscles seizing and locking, as she slid the pin from his crown, releasing his hair.

"This is no time for a topknot!" she teased, apparently as easygoing about her appearance and their impending display as, well, Iroh, probably more so. She didn't seem to care in the slightest.

He chuckled weakly, taking the crown back from her and setting it on the rail beside his robes. He ruffled his hair a bit, getting it to fall right, and stole a glance down her body and then back up again. Her outfit looked, appropriately, like something straight out of the Fire Nation, except that it appeared to be a very dark blue. He frowned slightly, grateful for the distraction—because it was a distraction; it was downright odd.

"Uh, Katara, where'd you get that?" he asked, making a vague motion towards her clothing.

She glanced down at herself, like she needed to remind herself of her garb. "Oh, this? Well, I figured that since Aang and I performed this so often, I should get something appropri—"

"You and Aang perform this often?" Zuko echoed slowly, as if she had just spoken in a foreign language he needed to get his tongue around.

She bobbed her head. "Oh, yeah, all the time! That's the only reason I remember how; it's such a complicated dance, isn't it?"

He didn't reply, too caught up with the previous sentiment, approaching it like a particularly nasty logic puzzle. "Why would you and Aang perform the Waltz of the Phoenix all the time? Or…ever, really?"

She shrugged, obviously not as fixated on the subject as he. "Well, we travel the world trying to convince everyone to get along, right? Especially concerning the Fire Nation. So after we saw you that one time and learned it, and since it's apparently the most famous dance of your whole country, we thought that would be a fitting…introduction, if you will, to the Fire Nation. After all, so many people throw huge parties when Aang comes around, even now, years later, and it's a cultural lesson—show that the Fire Nation's not all bad, you know, 'cause they have some pretty crazy dance moves." She laughed at that, resting her hands on the bare skin of her waist.

Zuko's mind was still processing at a glacial pace. "So you and Aang dance to convince the world that the Fire Nation has good intentions?"

"Well, that's not _all_, obviously, but it's a brilliant introduction. Very interesting, fun to watch, even captivating, I daresay," she continued with a grin. "Most of everyone's interaction with the Fire Nation was very negative—getting raided and such, or being tyrannically controlled. This showed people that there was more to Fire than the military, that it had citizens with lives and traditions, one of those being the dance. But to preserve the worldliness of it all, Aang and I got our costumes tailored to reflect our home nations, hence the blue," she added. "Aang's, obviously, is all yellow and orange."

"Uh-huh," Zuko said, not to reply to anything but simply for something to fill the expectant silence. It was finally sinking into his skull, and he wondered why he'd ever bothered feeling all nervous; Aang and Katara did this on a regular basis, and…and Aang and Katara did this on a regular basis…His mind grabbed onto that, like a needle diving into a groove on a record.

"Why don't you do it with Aang, then?" he suggested, seeing light at the end of this tunnel. He didn't necessarily want to watch her perform the waltz with another man, but if it would get him out of this tight spot, he would almost suggest pairing her with Ozai…almost.

Katara regarded him for a long moment, one eyebrow creeping up her forehead. "Well, I could, but…Iroh said this was your idea."

Zuko's imagination provided him with several ways, each more violent than the next, to utterly smash Iroh's favorite teapot. He tried to laugh it off, but all that came out was a pitiful little titter. "Oh, yeah, of course it was…of course…"

She tried to meet his eyes, looking half-suspicious, half-concerned. "Are you…okay, Zuko?"

"Ha ha ha, why wouldn't I be okay?" he blurted, certain he was doing his case against insanity no favors. "I'm just—just—just nervous, that's all," he snatched, smiling weakly. "Unlike you, I don't do this constantly. Being Fire Lord means less court balls and more paperwork, really."

"Well, stop," she said, batting his shoulder. "You'll make me nervous, and I don't need that because I'm fine. And you should be, too. Geez, Zuke, relax a bit. You'll snap if you stay that tense."

Zuko endeavored to follow her advice, slipping into his meditation's mantra on reflex, and some of the taut energy had melted from his back and shoulders when Toph's voice cut across the relative silence.

"Hey! Sparky! Sweetness! You gonna dance or what?"

Katara grinned and shook her head, half in exasperation, half in fondness. "We should not allow that girl near alcohol," she commented, and she linked her arm with his.

Zuko flinched, startled at the action, but he quickly waved it off when Katara tossed him another look. Focusing as much as he could on the simple act of breathing—in and out, in and out, in and—he led her from the shadows of the village, around the tables, and to the center of the dance area. He spied Iroh in one of the corners, cradling his sumki horn and looking as pleased as a preened peacock, doubtlessly gloating over his matchmaking victory. And there was Toph, lounging between Teo and Sokka and looking like she might start making demands again on a moment's notice; Sokka had his arm slung around Suki, both radiating happiness, and next to them was Aang, who simply looked interested for the performance to begin.

As Zuko's gaze traveled the circle, though, he thought he saw all males in attendance perk up a bit; he spared Katara a brief glance, and he had to admit that he wasn't surprised in the slightest. He had believed her formal gown to make her the most beautiful, and perhaps that was still true, but there was something undeniably…enticing about her blue Fire Nation dress.

"Ready?" he asked quietly, aware that total silence had fallen.

Katara slid easily into the starting position, one hand holding more to the nape of his neck than his shoulder, the other curling her fingers around his. "I'm ready if you are," she replied, raising her brows slightly. "Smile, Zuko."

His facial muscles pulled at his lips.

She laughed softly. "That would be more of a grimace."

He snapped his features straight and guiltily shrugged. "Sorry," he apologized hastily, and he glanced over her head at Iroh. A long moment passed, and then he gave the slightest of nods.

Iroh cleared his throat and then proclaimed in a booming voice, grinning from ear to ear, "My lords and ladies…the Waltz of the Phoenix."

Katara's ice blue eyes locked on his.

Zuko forgot how to breathe.

And Iroh began to play.

As the first few slow, crooning notes drifted from the sumki horn, Katara eased away from him in several arcing steps, moving as slowly as the music. She had such precise control of her movements that she actually looked fluid, her element given human form. Once their arms were outstretched and they stood side by side, heads turned to keep eye contact, and the last drawn-out note had bled into silence, Zuko's mind snapped back into gear. He wasn't thinking, exactly, but when Iroh started playing as if he would achieve a prize of unlimited ginseng for the most notes crammed into the smallest amount of time, the fog filling his head didn't matter anymore because he didn't need to think to _move_.

They began to dance.

It was an eye-tearing blur of spins and steps and lunges, all executed with the deftest, smoothest motions imaginable. Katara was swirling this way and that as he cut her loose and drew her back, his hand anchoring again and again and again on the curve of her waist, his other hand tightening and relaxing against hers as he gave her space or took it away. He couldn't for the life of him recall the steps, couldn't keep count in his head, but his body seemed to understand what was expected of it, and it remembered the dance far better than anyone's head ever could.

The music gradually began to slow, the beats elongating until it was the same pace as the start, but Zuko knew that the dance was only halfway done. He twisted her about, drawing her back into his chest and molding her form to his; her hair tickled his nose, but he was deep in the music, and not even her intoxicating closeness could distract him now. He leaned back, bending his knees and arching his spine, and she followed perfectly until he raised their clasped hands towards the sky and the full moon high above. He paused at the extent of his reach as another mournful note died away.

The audience watched, breathless with expectation, and did not sense the other kind of tension hanging thickly in the still-warm air.

The sumki horn sang out again, and Katara and Zuko straightened and arced away from each other once more as the music swelled into a crescendo, each taking long curving steps that carried them to opposite corners of the floor before they eased back together and into their original position, fingers meshing, breath skirting the other's neck. They paced in a slow circle, each step completing half the journey, and their gazes remained intensely locked, cobalt ice reflecting the amber sun.

He could feel her heart thudding and her chest swelling with each inhale and the muscles in her waist flexing beneath his fingers, and he wondered if she were able to look away at will because he was completely incapable. He wasn't entirely sure if he could ever let go of her, even once the dance was over.

Iroh's sumki horn burst out with a sudden flurry of rapid notes, and they were spiraling again in a cyclone blur of navy blue and blood red, feet pounding and hips swiveling and torsos bending faster and faster and faster again as the beat continued to increase. A mistake would be so easy to make now, but neither of them faltered, Zuko following Katara's lead as much as she followed his, and they spun and stepped and kicked until it all stopped.

The music hit its final note, the pure sound lingering with plaintive clarity in the air.

They stopped right on cue, Zuko down on one knee and Katara bent backwards over it, her head thrown back, one hand swept over her head and the other hooked on his neck. He balanced her, his hands supporting her on opposite sides to keep her still, one between her shoulder blades and the other splayed on her stomach. And when silence finally fell, they held the position, as if they simply could not right themselves.

Another moment passed, and then their audience burst into wild applause, loud cheers and hollers rising above the shutter-sound of rapidly clapping hands.

It all seemed a dull roar in Zuko's ears; he could not tear his eyes away from the curve of her neck, or the beads of sweat pooling in the hollow beneath her throat. He felt her breathing beneath his hand, her ribs rising and falling as she gulped for air mostly denied throughout the dance. Her skin was smooth and hot to the touch, and he did not know how he ever pulled his hands away and straightened up and rose to his feet, helping her to hers as well.

They bowed deeply, acknowledging the applause, and when he finally looked at her again, flushed from the exertion and grinning broadly at their success, he saw she wasn't smiling. She was staring at him with a very strange expression, almost as if she were scared or couldn't quite figure him out.

"What is it?" he murmured, concerned.

She stared at him for a heartbeat more before she blinked, a measure of normalcy returning to her face. "What? Oh…oh, nothing, Zuko, nothing. Just…a bit heady, eh? The dance and all."

He shrugged; now that it was over and Aang had not leapt into the Avatar State from righteous fury, he felt that he could afford to be nonchalant about it all. "Well, yes, but you've done this a million times, so…" He trailed off meaningfully.

Something of her previous look traced across her eyes again, and she shook her head ever so slightly and confessed in a voice that was scarcely a whisper, "I've never done _that_ before."

Bewildered, Zuko was about to voice his confusion, but she slipped from his side without another word, disappearing into the crowd that had suddenly rushed the dance floor. They seemed eager to try to outdo the two benders, and Zuko was shunted this way and that, complimented and praised and ultimately pulled into another dance by the industrious Meng.

By the time he had escaped the crowded floor, reclaimed his outer robes, and returned to the circle of lamplight, Katara was gone, vanished entirely from the festivities.

He chewed on his lip as he settled back onto his cushion, pensively sipping his sake, and tried not to remember how she felt in his arms.

* * *

A/N: Well, how 'bout that? And while I've obviously intended for Zuko and Katara to skip around a dance floor for some time, certain aspects of this piece (the final dip, Katara's outfit) were inspired by this brilliant, smexy (and this time, I really mean it!) piece by **gabzillaz** over on deviantART called **Zutara Dance**, I believe. In any event, if you wanna check it out, I have the link to my deviantART profile in my fanfiction profile, and the picture in question is one of my recent favorites over there. So after you **review**, you should look at it and agree with **gabzillaz** when she says that Zutara is way too hot for Nickelodeon...which is, of course, the entire reason it ended up as Kataang. Stupid network!


	5. cinq

A/N: Thanks to **Avatar Spirit .net **for having complete episode transcripts; those things are really invaluable.

* * *

**_Beyond the Rising Sun_**

_**v.**_

The full moon hung like a cool sun in the blue-tinged black sky, casting pure white light down on the island below and transforming the pale sand into snow and the bay into an infinitely faceted mirror. The stars in its immediate vicinity were washed out by its brilliance, and not one solitary cloud existed to tarnish its beauty.

Far below the moon, where the snowy sand met the mirrored waves, Katara stood with her arms folded on her chest, as if they were too heavy to just let hang. She anchored them to her body and tilted her head back, her gaze roaming the lofty heavens.

"It's simple for you, isn't it, Yue?" she murmured, not expecting the moon spirit to reply and not disturbed by the ensuing silence. "Life. Existence, I suppose," she corrected, shifting her stance in the soft ground and favoring one leg. "Nothing to do except waterbend…must be nice."

One of her hands pulled free of its entrapment, fingers dancing like a harpist's plucking strings. The shallows pooling near her bare feet floated up in serpentine coils and weaved through her fingers, rolling over then under, over then under and then back around to do it again, as though she were one of those pirates rolling a coin from digit to digit.

Her bending was reflexive now, instinctive even; Pakku had expressed only recently his renewed amazement at her amount of raw talent, and now that she had honed it to such perfection it was no wonder she could still best the Avatar with her native element. For her, waterbending had always existed on a subconscious level, floating patiently beneath the surface and coming forth when summoned. But nowadays it seemed like it had risen somewhat, that it flirted with the edges of her consciousness to the point where she didn't have to think and she barely had to move.

Moonlight washed down, paling her tan skin to stark white and contrasting it sharply with the shadows that clung to her features. It was light, and in her head she knew that, and in her head she also knew that logically she shouldn't be able to _feel_ it against her skin—it wasn't sunlight; there was no heat.

But she could feel it all the same, caressing her form, coaxing the bending that lurked just beneath the surface into the open air.

The shallows churned around her feet, spiraling vine-like up her legs and cocooning her body in glassy tendrils. She let it wrap around her, her mind wandering to different places while her bending continued, just as her heartbeat and breathing always worked regardless of her thoughts.

Her mind didn't wander far: memories of Zuko and the dance were nearly brimming over, and it was a wonder she had managed to keep her thoughts blank as long as she had. She just didn't know what to make of it: she had performed the waltz literally a hundred times, as the firebender had pointed out, but it had never been like…that. When she danced with Aang, it was a demonstration, a first step towards world peace and understanding and pushing closed minds open; the clothing they wore and the moves they made were simply part of the routine, as sensually evocative as the routine of brushing her teeth.

But with Zuko it had been markedly different. She knew the steps flawlessly and usually kept idle count in her head—one-two-three, one-two-three—but, like her waterbending, she hadn't had to think this time. She had only had to listen to the music and let it thrum through her veins and suddenly she had been _alive_ somehow, like she'd never been before. Everything else in the entire world had taken a backseat to the dance, as if she'd fall down and die should she fail to finish. There had been a pulsing drive behind it all, and she couldn't put her finger on it.

She pursed her lips, staring up at the moon, and with the slightest flicker of her hand, she spun the water from her body, forged it into a colossal whip, and sent it cracking into the sea. It created a terrific splash, and for a moment, all the droplets hung suspended and crystalline in the moonlight before they plummeted once more to the ocean's surface and peppered it with a thousand tiny explosions.

Cobalt eyes narrowed slightly in thought. The dance had felt like waterbending, hadn't it? That same strange thoughtless quality…the same inherent need to perform. The full moon planted an unrelenting urge to bend in her soul…perhaps it had carried over? Yue's home had been present, after all, high above like a watchful guardian during the dance, and for being a dance of the Fire Nation, parts of it were remarkably similar to her brand of combat—the slow, flowing parts where they had glided around in loose circles.

Her mouth pulled down at the corners now as well, matching the frown of her eyes. The Waltz of the Phoenix's choreography was very akin to the respective bending styles of water and fire: one fluid and smooth, the other sharp and staccato. Could it be that the dance itself was somehow affected when the appropriate types of benders were involved? Had it felt different because Zuko was fire and she was water, and the seamless blend of such fierce opposites upset some balance? Or, even, perfected some balance?

Yin and yang, she thought absently, recalling the long-ago memory of the swirling koi from the Northern Water Tribe. She and Zuko had fought near that very pond, a different kind of dance that managed to possess the same rhythm.

It _was_ the fire and water, wasn't it?

Her frown deepened, and she boarded the train of thought she'd endeavored very hard to avoid.

It couldn't be because it had been Zuko himself. That was just ridiculous. There was nothing special about him; sure, he was a brilliant firebender and a worthy leader of his people, but when you got right down to it, he was just Zuko, a somewhat uncertain young man who always strove very hard to give more than his best effort.

She shook her head slightly, denying that conclusion. It had everything to do with the full moon and their opposing elements and absolutely nothing to do with how it felt to lean back into him and arc her body with his and reach towards the sky like a drowning man seeking salvation.

Katara shook her head again, this time more sharply to throw the idea out and abandon it on the whitewashed sand. It only made sense that Zuko wouldn't feel the same as Aang; they were different people, after all. One was slight and lean and graceful and the other was tall and broad and powerful…and…hard. How much did he have to exercise to sustain that kind of muscle tone?

Heaving an exasperated sigh, the waterbender plunged heedlessly into the curling tides, bending instinctively and clearing a path ahead of her until she clambered aboard the waves like anyone else would get upon a table. Once she had achieved the crests, she darted out across the bay, flicking ice beneath her feet and skating effortlessly across the evanescently frozen surface.

She had left the celebration to clear her head, and her head refused to be cleared; there was only one thing to do then, and that was immerse herself entirely in waterbending and forget everything else existed.

Katara closed her eyes and sailed away.

* * *

The party had eventually dwindled and stuttered to a graceless stop, as such events are wont to do, and Zuko rose from his cushion and stretched his stiff, exhaustion-muddled limbs. He had by now been awake for quite some time, but for all the weariness submerging in his bones, his mind remained sharp and clear. He had only been able to dwell on Katara's mysterious disappearance for so long, and his thoughts had then followed different paths, flitting from observation to observation like an indecisive sparrow.

He had watched Iroh play his sumki horn and sway from side to side, both his feet tapping; he had watched Aang entertain the younger children by elevating his custard cakes; and then, later on, he had watched the Avatar assist the parents with their charges as the hours dragged onward. And he had watched Sokka and Suki twirl around the dance floor or sit next to each other or chat with their guests and had been amazed at their sheer happiness.

He wondered if his parents had been like this on their wedding day, if they had ever been happy at all.

Most of him seriously doubted it—the marriages of Fire Nation royals were often arranged, resulting in pairings more suitable in terms of breeding than love. He knew that both his mother and his aunt had been from wealthy, prominent families, and that placing them with Ozai and Iroh would be very advantageous in terms of political power. If he allowed this to occur—because, chauvinistically, the male in the situation could always choose to decline, even if the female could not—he could quite possibly be wed to Mai one day: her father had been a governor, after all.

Zuko shunted the idea aside, his nose wrinkling. He could only imagine how cold that future would be.

Part of him hoped that Ursa had chosen to wed Ozai, that at least at some point in her life, she had wanted to be Fire Lady and wanted to be with him. He only hoped that, though, so his mother would've had some semblance of choice in the matter and that she hadn't been condemned, like a criminal, to a loveless marriage and a bitter life.

He, Zuko, her firstborn son, had been the only bright point in all the darkness; he hadn't been cruel like Azula or aloof and power-hungry like Ozai. In the same manner, she had been his grounding anchor, the one steady, reliable thing in a tormented childhood where the only litany in his head was _Not good enough, never good enough_.

And so he resolved, as he bore the weight of Iroh's sumki horn while they walked back towards their ship, that he would try one last time to elicit her whereabouts from Ozai, using whatever means necessary. So far he had been largely ineffective in his efforts, but he supposed that simply asking the man wasn't much persuasion. He wasn't about to strike any deals—_tell me where she is and I'll set you free_—but that didn't mean he was without options. There were other brands of persuasion in this world, darker ones conducted behind closed doors: torture, manipulation. He had options open, options he had never dared to consider before because of their moral repugnance, but now…

Ursa could be that steady presence for him again, and maybe she would be the one capable of healing Azula—because no matter what his sister had ever said, she never loved Ozai; she only took advantage of him like she took advantage of everyone else, and she groveled before him out of the hope that she would be named the heir one day instead of Zuko.

The same tactics that had drawn her close to her father, though, had succeeded in driving away her mother, a rift Azula had tried often to repair (when she thought no one was watching, and when it failed each time, she would plunge deeper into the twisted lifestyle as if out of spite, as if to say, _You don't love me when I try to be good, so perhaps one day if I continue on this path, you'll be forced to acknowledge and respect me out of fear_).

Zuko knew all this; Azula, in her incoherent state, had moments of almost-lucidity which revolved entirely around the subject of their mother. Finding Ursa was the best chance he had for reclaiming his sister as the little girl he barely remembered, as the one who would follow him around the palace, trying to keep up and yelling _Zuzu, Zuzu!_ to get him to wait for her.

The metal of the sumki horn was icy cold beneath his fingers, and he adjusted its weight in his arms in an attempt to cradle it wholly on his sleeves.

"You are quiet, Lord Zuko," Iroh remarked at length as they passed through the finally-slumbering village, their tread soft despite the surrounding silence.

He nodded vaguely. "I have much to think on, Uncle."

Iroh studied him sidelong for a long moment, dark amber eyes darting over his nephew's solemn face. "Given your expression, I do not believe you are thinking of Miss Katara."

Zuko shot his uncle a weak glare, grimacing vaguely. "If you hadn't been so keen on playing matchmaker, I wouldn't have done whatever I did that freaked her out, and I could have enjoyed her company for the evening. And no," he added, the acid leaving his tone, "I wasn't thinking about her."

The former general nodded sagely. "Ah, then you must have been thinking of your mother."

Zuko didn't reply, not surprised that Iroh knew his thoughts so well—if it weren't his country's welfare, his sister's health, or Katara (because Mai had never really been included in that list), then it had to be his mother. Those precious few subjects were all that quantified Zuko's attention.

Iroh frowned, his face wrinkling deeply. "I hate to say it, my nephew, but Ozai will never yield. He is obstinate and malicious, and he will strike you with whatever weapons he can. Imprisoned and powerless as he is, all he has now is that information, and he can and will torture you with it till the day he dies." The elder shook his head. "I am afraid my brother is a disgrace to the family line and general humanity."

"Ozai," Zuko began, biting the name off sharply, "is not a member of this family. I had him officially disowned not long after ascending the throne. He is nothing but an ostracized bastard, a war criminal like any other."

Iroh did not reply to that, although the furrow between his brows deepened.

"Unfortunately," the Fire Lord added humorlessly, "I cannot strike him from the record of humanity."

Zuko increased his speed a fraction, desiring nothing more than to return to the capital and beat the answers out of Ozai. All the man had was his stubborn pride, and Zuko was confident that sooner or later, he would find the means to part Ozai from his last possession and with it his mother's location.

At his quickened pace, the firebender emerged from the dense, scraggly thicket that fronted the shoreline a dozen feet ahead of his uncle, but he was so intent on his ship bobbing at anchor that Iroh still noticed Katara first.

"Here you are, young miss," Iroh greeted with his usual broad smile.

Zuko turned to look and saw that Katara lounged near the tideline some twenty paces to their left; she looked at them when Iroh spoke and then rose to her feet and offered a small bow.

Mischief glinted in Iroh's eyes, and he strode closer to Zuko, still talking to the waterbender. "I am going to retire now, but you young people should stay and chat…"

"Uncle!" Zuko hissed, embarrassed and angry and properly distracted—at least momentarily—from his mission of doom.

"May I offer you a lift?" Katara replied, nodding towards the lapping waves.

Iroh smiled in both delight and triumph. "Of course! Waterbending has always fascinated me," he said, tipping a wink to his nephew, who rolled his eyes at the innuendo.

The Dragon of the West stepped forward until the highest tides licked at his boots; he waited there only a half second before water suddenly swelled beneath him, carrying him upon its curving back, and his gruff laughter hung in the air as he enjoyed the ride.

Zuko was too busy staring incredulously at Katara to return his uncle's farewell wave. "How did you _do_ that?" he asked, stunned.

Katara lowered the arm she'd been waving at Iroh with and slanted him an equally curious glance. "Do…what?"

He made a very vague and unhelpful gesture. "That! You waterbent…without…really moving. At all."

"Oh," she said, her voice softer, and she gazed across the bay for a silent minute before she lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. "I can do that sometimes…when the moon's full," she added, nodding upwards. "It empowers us waterbenders beyond our normal abilities, but still, you have a point," she said with a little laugh. "Most waterbenders require the motions, not just the thoughts. Or the instincts, really, since I hardly have to think about it."

"That's incredible," Zuko said sincerely. "You really are the best, aren't you?"

She smiled impishly. "I suppose I am."

He studied her for a long while; she seemed nonplussed, as she returned her attention to the waves, which rolled themselves accordingly with barely a gesture from her. An idea was taking root in his mind, somewhere in the back where he couldn't be properly aware of it, but it sent tendrils racing through the rest of his brain, awakening the appropriate, corresponding parts.

Something tickled in his memory, as if electricity had just danced across his subconscious. But it was far too fragmented and buried too deeply beneath the layers of nation-worry that clogged his mind, and it remained unresolved for the present.

He shunted it aside, more concerned at the moment with her state of being. "So…are you okay?"

Katara slanted him a sidelong glance. "Eh? Yeah, I'm fine, fine. Why d'ya ask?"

Zuko shrugged expressively. "You just ran off after we completed the dance. I…I wanted to make sure that I didn't…do anything. To distress you, I mean." He kept his gaze trained on his feet, which shuffled awkwardly in the sand.

"You didn't do anything," she assured him, accompanying her words with a dismissive gesture. Her face grew pensive, though, and she pursed her lips in thought. "I wonder…do you know the origins of that dance?"

He blinked and furrowed his brow and suddenly remembered that he still had Iroh's sumki horn. He adjusted the instrument in his arms; the damn thing was cold _and_ heavy. "I couldn't say for certain. It's the most ancient dance in the Fire Nation, but as for where it came from, exactly, I couldn't tell you." He shifted the horn again, trying to get a good grip on it. "Why?"

She shook her head. "No reason, really. Just curious. Although…it might've been interesting when Aang and I perform it again someday, but if you don't know, I guess it really is lost to history."

Zuko tried not to think about that statement too much. Iroh had called up too many possibilities with his incorrigible matchmaking, and the thought of her in a future without him suddenly repulsed. "Uncle might know," he offered finally once his jealousy had cooled. "He's always had a fascination with those kinds of things, and besides, I've been too busy my whole life to read up on traditional court dances."

Katara laughed softly. "I suppose you would've. Well…I'm dead tired. Goodnight, Zuko."

"'Night," he murmured in reply, offering as much of a wave as he could with both arms cradling the sumki horn. And then she swiftly dwindled in size as he rode the swell she'd conjured with less than a thought.

He lingered on the deck for a moment and watched her disappear into the shadows of the forest edging the shoreline.

Waterbending…that half-conscious idea had something to do with _waterbending_…

* * *

The sun burned like some godless eye in the heavens, sending down too-bright light that washed some of the color from everything. Zuko raised a hand to his forehead as he clambered up the stairs to the deck, and he watched Aang zoom by on an air scooter without even an arched eyebrow. He simply waited for the Avatar to pass, and then he approached his uncle and Katara, who were sitting in the center of the deck.

The ship rolled gently as it bobbed at anchor, and he adjusted his gait automatically to compensate. Iroh and Katara appeared to be playing with marionettes, and they looked up when his shadow fell across them.

"Oh, hi, Zuko," Katara said enthusiastically, and Zuko wondered why she wore dark clothing with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, but decided not to question it. "Do you want to play, too?"

Iroh hefted a third puppet, which hung limply with its strings somewhat tangled, and grinned his usual ear-to-ear grin. "They go lovely with ginseng tea," he commented.

Zuko seated himself, not remarking on the sheer oddity of Iroh's statement. He accepted the puppet from Katara and attempted to loosen the strings. After a few moments, he dropped the puppet in frustration.

"It's okay," she soothed, lifting the doll. "Not everyone can puppet-bend, Zuko."

Iroh gave a bark of laughter at that, which combined with Aang's ceaseless laughter as he circled them continuously. Zuko found himself direly wishing that the last airbender would just go away and stop being annoying.

"Like this, Zuko," Katara instructed, straightening the strings and making the puppet move. Then she handed it back to him with an encouraging smile, as if he were a child.

Zuko worked his wrist, causing the puppet to dance gracelessly. He finally gave the doll a good look and saw that it was a Fire Nation soldier, one of the Southern Raiders, if he weren't mistaken. He glanced at Katara's and Iroh's marionettes and saw that all three were identical. Iroh was pretending that his was drinking from his cup of tea, and Katara was moving hers in the same motion, over and over and over again.

The puppet stood upright, and then it collapsed to its knees, its head bowing all the way to the ground. Its limbs looked contorted, not too terribly strange on a marionette, but it would be in severe pain if it were a real human being.

Zuko frowned, and then said randomly, "You don't remember her? You will soon. Trust me."

Katara's puppet cycled through the repetitive motion again, and Iroh supplied in a wheedling tone, "What…what's happening to me?"

"Revenge is a two-headed rat-viper," Aang piped in cheerfully as he whizzed past, all smiles as he perched on his air scooter.

Zuko glanced at Katara, somewhat surprised to see anger contorting her expression, which had been carefree only moments before. He looked back at her puppet and continued accusingly, "You look her in the eye and you tell me you don't remember what you did."

For some reason, he found himself growing angry, too.

Katara suddenly appeared hopeless, and she let go of the strings; the marionette crumpled in a limp heap, limbs still askew. "It's not him. He's not the man."

Zuko inhaled sharply as he woke up, highly disorientated. Blinking, he pushed himself up onto his elbows and lit his candles with a thought; their feeble golden light illuminated his cabin on his ship, exactly as it should be. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing the sleep away.

"'Nother weird dream," he mumbled before slumping back into the pillows, his arms spread-eagled. He stared blankly up at the ceiling, vestiges of the dream clinging to his mind's eye still. In the flickering candlelight, all he could see was the puppet groveling ceaselessly, bending and bending and bending…

Bending…?

The lines, which had connected the dots in his subconscious, finally appeared in his conscious as well, and suddenly different images were shifting before his eyes. Katara again, but she was fifteen and in that same dark outfit, surrounded by the reddish metals of a Fire Nation ship. The Southern Raider soldier, except he was a real person this time, not a puppet. And that same strange crumpling motion, the captain falling to his knees while Katara slid into a foreign waterbending stance.

The words of Katara's dream-self echoed in his head.

_Not everyone can puppet-bend, Zuko…_

"No, not everyone can do that," he murmured, rising slowly to a sitting position as everything became clear. "But you can, Katara. You can somehow control people's movements. And if you did it before, maybe you could do it…again…"

He trailed off into silence, staring across his cabin towards the far wall. Whatever she had done, it had absolutely terrified the Southern Raiders' captain. That man would have told them absolutely anything, probably going so far as to betray his closest friend if it meant getting out of that bind. The power she wielded, the overwhelming persuasive power…

If she used it on Ozai, then maybe…just maybe…

Before the thought had even run through to completion, Zuko had sprung to his feet and dashed from his cabin, hope swelling blindly in his chest.

* * *

The Fire Lord sprinted all the way into the village to the place the Water Tribe had commandeered for the wedding; he finally slowed as he crossed the threshold, though he still dripped water from his heedless plunge into the bay. His breath was ragged in his chest and loud in his ears, and he struggled to regain his composure—it wouldn't do, after all, to wake everyone up.

Tiptoeing around the pallets of Water Tribe citizens, Zuko ascended the stairs in the back of the place, peering over the railing before he fully reached the second storey. He couldn't distinguish much, due to both the poor light and the fact that all the blue blankets and dark hair looked the same. Only Toph stood out, sprawled inelegantly in a corner and snoring uproariously, drool hanging from the corner of her mouth.

So if Toph were here, Katara should be nearby…

He crept across the room, the elation dulling somewhat in his chest. He probably shouldn't wake her up; after all, it wasn't even properly dawn yet, and they had gone to bed late into the night, so late it probably had technically been the morning. She couldn't have gotten much sleep, and sleep-deprived Katara was never good for anyone's health.

But he _had_ to. He had to know, and he had to know now.

True to his assumption, Katara slept close to Toph; the waterbender was curled on her side, the blankets tugged all the way up to her chin and held in place with one fisted hand. Despite the petite earthbender's snores, he could still hear Katara's soft breathing—a slow, even rhythm that consisted of breaths that were at once both shallow and deep.

Relaxed in sleep and tinged with the grayish haze of dawn, she was truly beautiful.

Zuko felt a sudden yet slow wash of contentment, and his hand hesitated on its journey to her shoulder. It would be such a shame to disturb her; she looked so peaceful. And for the briefest of instants, he wondered what it would be like to be able to wake up to this sight every morning.

But then the reverie passed, and his determination and urgency dredged up once more, and his fingers closed gently on her shoulder as he gave her the slightest of shakes.

"Katara?" he whispered. In the silence, though, he thought it sounded like he had yelled her name.

She stirred, mumbling something incoherent without even a flicker of her eyelids.

He shook her a little harder and whispered her name again.

"Mmf…wha…" Her eyes cracked open, revealing slits of cobalt irises foggy with sleep. "Zu…Zuke? The hell're you…wha…" She blinked several times, her gaze gradually sharpening as she dragged herself into the waking world.

"I need to talk to you," he imparted, his hand lingering on her shoulder.

She inhaled deeply, still blinking—her eyes probably hurt, he thought; he certainly knew that his own ached with the desire for slumber, but he needed to do this, he needed to!—and levered herself up slightly on one arm.

"Spirits, what time is it?" she grumbled, twisting around in an attempt to receive an answer of some sort.

"Early," he allowed with a grimace.

She blinked several more times as she stared out the nearby window, very slowly registering the nature of the sky. And then she groaned. "Hell, Zuko, it's not even _dawn_! Dad'll kill you if he finds you up here…"

Zuko frowned, confused by that remark. "What? Why would your father care?"

Katara seemed to gloss over his question for a moment, instead giving him a pointed once-over. "Do you ever get properly dressed? And why're you so wet, anyway?"

He glanced down at himself; he was, once again, in just a pair of pants. "No, I don't," he said sourly, "and I had to swim to shore without your convenient waterbending."

"Geez, what happened to boats?" she mumbled, trying to run a hand through her hair and failing miserably as she encountered unforgiving tangles in the long curls. "And Dad'll kill you because you're a half-dressed man visiting me at all ungodly hours. Call it chauvinistic 'cause he never cared about Sokka, but that's the breaks."

"But why would your father care?" the firebender repeated. "You're with Aang all the time, and you were with me and Aang and a handful of other boys before. So…?"

Katara yawned widely, only half-heartedly covering it with one hand. "Oh, Aang doesn't count in Dad's mind, and besides, Sokka was around before, which presumably kept me from mischief. Not that it kept _him_ from mischief, but that's a paradox for another day."

Perhaps it was the hour, but Zuko was not processing well. "Aang doesn't…count?" he echoed, incredulous.

"No, he doesn't," she affirmed. "He's a monk, right? So Dad assumes nothing would ever happen."

Zuko cast her a sharp glance, that little pool of envy bubbling poisonously in the depths of his gut.

She caught his expression, and she simultaneously huffed and blushed. "Well, nothing _has_," she insisted, "so don't look at me like that. Spirits, you're annoying this early."

"I rise with the sun," he quoted again humorlessly.

She cocked an eyebrow. "You realize that the sun _hasn't_ risen yet, right? But since you woke me up, I guess I might as well be awake, at least for five minutes. C'mon…let's get outside, where we won't have to whisper and worry about bringing my father's wrath down on your poor, unsuspecting head."

He arched his good eyebrow in return.

"Yes, you are unsuspecting, since I had to spell it out for you," she shot back, rising rather stiffly to her feet. She stretched a bit and adjusted her sleeping robe before she followed Zuko outside, navigating the tortuous path around the rest of the slumbering Water Tribe. Once out, though, they wandered a ways down the dirt road, stopping at the meeting of the sand and the scrubby forest.

Katara plopped down, clearly unwilling to walk any further. "Mmkay, Zuke…explain away," she said with an idle wave of her hand, which then returned to her mouth to stifle another yawn.

Hope—blinding, desperate, urgent hope—flooded his limbs again, and he nearly vibrated from the sheer strength of it all. As it were, he merely paced in short, sharp turns. But he halted at length, facing her.

He licked his suddenly dry lips.

"Uh, Katara?" he said, his voice hoarser than he wanted it to be, and he swallowed hastily in an attempt to alleviate the rasp.

She opened her eyes halfway; they had shut again, and she had probably partially returned to dreamland.

"Do you remember…" He trailed off with a little laugh, nothing more than an exhale. "Agni, of course you remember. What a stupid thing to say…but…" He marshaled his thoughts and looked at her squarely. Her brows slanted together as her eyes brightened with clarity, clearly wondering what he was getting at and also wondering if she ought to be worried.

"When we were searching for Yan Ra—" she flinched at the name, and he rushed on "—we made that mistake, right? We thought he'd still be the Southern Raiders' captain, but he wasn't, it was that other guy, but we still thought it was him…"

Katara cut off his desperate ramble. "The point being…?" she said, prompting for succinctness.

"The point being," he echoed, "that you did…_something_. Like you…controlled him somehow."

He had expected her to nod in recollection and then press him to continue. He hadn't expected her entire face to close off, even walls rising behind icy irises until her expression was wholly blank and almost painfully hollow.

"And?" she asked softly, her voice eerily level without one tremor of inflection.

That same thing in the back of Zuko's mind, that part of him that was more aware than the rest, screamed uselessly for him to stop this line of inquiry, to let the matter drop without pressing it further. But the rest of him was too desperate, and the caution faded deafly from existence.

"What was it, Katara?" he asked, just as quietly as she, sensing on some level that this was thin ice. "What did you do?"

Her gaze drifted away from his, lingering briefly on the sky before falling to the distant horizon. Several moments passed in heavy, unnerving silence. "Bloodbending," she finally answered, still emotionless.

He echoed the term in his head; it certainly sounded ominous. "And…what is bloodbending? I mean, I've never heard of it before, and Iroh's told me everything he knows about the Water Tribes."

"Your uncle wouldn't've known," she replied with the slightest shake of her head. "It was the most closely guarded secret of the Southern Tribe—it's not even known or taught in the Northern. I only learned it when I met an old woman, a waterbender, who had been stolen from my tribe and imprisoned in the Fire Nation. _I_ didn't even know about it before that." Her arms wrapped around her middle, as if she were protecting herself. "It's waterbending's final trick. You have lightning, and Toph has metal…and I have blood."

Zuko frowned; he had some difficulty getting the concept into chewable portions. He had a mental image of her bending puddles of blood, like she would normal puddles. "So you can bend people's blood?"

Her face, if possible, grew bleaker. "Not just their blood. Everything liquid inside them—blood, spit, stomach acid—did you know there's even fluid in your brain, in your bones? There's so much water in people, in the muscles and organs. I can bend _all_ of it." She shuddered.

"That's…" Zuko began to say, but he realized all adjectives failed him. He hadn't really expected her to mean the blood still _inside_ them, even though that made sense considering the Southern Raiders' captain; it gave him an inexplicable urge to claw at his skin. Along with that, he felt a renewed sense of relief that she no longer was his enemy, but also a reignited drive to force Ozai to confess. This could be the key.

"Can you…" He tried to come up with a decent way to phrase it, but there was no beating around this bush. "Can you…hurt people with it?"

She looked at him sharply, an unreadable look flashing across her face, something hard in her eyes. There was nothing remotely sleepy about her now. "What kind of question is that, Zuko? But yes, I can: I can stand across a room from you and bend the fluid in your spine and break your neck without ever laying a finger on you."

Zuko flinched involuntarily at the example.

"But I don't have to hurt them physically—don't you see what this allows me to do, what it would allow me to _become_?" she continued, rising to her feet. "I can control people, force my will upon them, and they are absolutely powerless to resist. Only another waterbender who's learned the technique could possibly resist it—because I did—but I'm the sole bloodbender now."

He endeavored to put a positive spin on the reality. "Well, yes—that kind of power is never good, goes right to the head and all that. But couldn't you…couldn't you use it for…good?"

She shook her head, swift jerks from side to side. "No. I will never, ever use it again. I never wanted to learn it in the first place because I didn't want that measure of power, but the knowledge was forced upon me by sheer desperation—Hama would've had Aang and Sokka kill each other right before my eyes! Don't you see what this is, Zuko? It's sick and it's twisted and I will be relieved when the knowledge dies with me!"

Her voice had risen nearly to a yell, and her chest was now heaving slightly as she drew in air. Something pained glittered in her eyes, a misplaced sense of guilt.

Zuko knew he should stop; every part of his mind was ordering him to, begging him to. But he couldn't let this chance slip through his fingers, this perfect chance… "But if you can use it to _help_ someone, Katara, I'm sure that'd be okay."

"Okay?" she echoed, stalking a few places closer to him. It took every ounce of willpower for him to hold his ground. "_Okay?_ You think something like this could ever be _okay_? I don't think you understand what I'm telling you. Let me put it in a way you can't possibly miss: if I wanted to, I could make you go on your ship right now and kill your uncle."

He recoiled at that despite himself.

"You get it now, don't you?" she continued, prodding a finger hard into his chest to punctuate her words. "This power is evil, pure evil, and I will not be its instrument."

He swallowed and somehow said, "But you used it against that captain…"

"I was in a blind rage!" she returned, actually shouting now. "Don't you think I know that if he'd been Yan Ra, if he'd been the man responsible, I would have ripped him limb from limb until there weren't even _shreds_ left? I thank the spirits _every day_ that he wasn't Mom's killer because I would've become a murderer right then and there, morals and conscience and consequence be damned! And I don't think I could live with myself then," she said, her voice dropping sharply to a hoarse almost-whisper, tears gathering thickly on her lashes.

Zuko drew in a slow breath and hated himself for every next syllable that left his mouth. "But if you could somehow bring your mother back by bloodbending, wouldn't you do it?"

Her eyes locked on his, cold and sad and empty. She was at an utter loss for words.

He hurried on, unable to tolerate that look on her face. "Because my mother's still out there somewhere, Katara, and I need to find her as much as you would. You have to understand how I feel! But Ozai won't tell me where she is, and I can't find her no matter how hard I look, and I need him to _tell me where she is!_" He paused, needing to catch his breath, and settled his hands on her shoulders. "Help me, please. She's my mother."

She shook her head slowly, and he felt her trembling beneath his hands. "That's not fair," she breathed. "Don't drag my mother into your sick idea of…of interrogating your father using me!"

"I need to find her!" he repeated. "You have to help me!" He shook her hard by the shoulders.

Her eyes widened even as her brows rammed together, and she simply stared up at him, as if she couldn't quite believe he had just used his greater strength to his advantage. And then all he was aware of was swimming vertigo before his eyes, the world swirling this way and that before it suddenly ceased to dance about willy-nilly.

Regaining his bearings, he found himself suspended upside down by a thick waterwhip; his nightmare flashed through his mind, fear flickering unbidden across his amber eyes.

"How can you ask that of me?" she demanded, her face inches from his and her voice an unnerving mix of plea and snarl. "How can you ask me to do something you know I'll hate myself for? How, Zuko? _How?_"

He swallowed with some difficulty and hastily apologized.

"I'm sorry, Katara. I shouldn't ask it of you, I really shouldn't, but I'm desperate, alright? Ozai won't give in, and it's been three years since I began asking and eight more since I've seen her! Eleven years!"

Tears—whether of anger or sorrow, Zuko couldn't be sure—rolled down her cheeks, leaving wet tracks that glistened in the pale glow of dawn. "I can't do it, Zuko, I just can't. _My_ mother's been dead for eleven years, so it's not that I don't get it, okay? I just can't bloodbend—I _can't_. I _won't_. Not for anyone, even you, even to find your mother." She made a subtle gesture with one hand, and the whip righted him, setting his feet on the ground, before it streamed back into the ocean.

He looked at her wearily, feeling the hope draining from his limbs.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, barely audible. She turned her face away, tears still slipping down the curve of her cheek. "So sorry."

He shook his head woodenly, and no reply breached his lips. He simply turned on heel and stalked across the beach, heading for his ship.

Katara's fingers rose to her throat, trembling as they caressed the flat stone on her mother's necklace.

She did not watch him go.


	6. six

* * *

**_Beyond the Rising Sun_**

_**vi.**_

Iroh had always been an early riser—which may or may not have contributed to his tendency to take sporadic naps throughout the day—and this fact remained true even after the late night he'd had. Sleep, it seemed, was hardly a necessity in old age, and Iroh could go through his day quite well with only a few scant hours of rest.

So the pre-dawn glow had only begun to creep about the ship when Iroh prepared his favorite tea. It would take a while, even with his ability to boil water very quickly, and he settled more comfortably on the cushion next to the low table. He inhaled the fragrance of the slowly steeping leaves, and a content smile wreathed his broad face.

He had been worrying about his nephew for some time, and Zuko's dire words concerning Ozai not so many hours ago had done nothing for the former general's peace of mind. It had all started with their separation: Zuko in the Fire Nation capital, at least most of the time, and Iroh off in Ba Sing Se. They had not lost the connection they had forged during the hard years of Zuko's banishment, and perhaps that was why Iroh had fretted all the more. Zuko's letters had grown increasingly more political, and mentions of Azula, which had once occupied entire pages of brotherly concern, had been relegated to a sentence or two, usually running along the lines of _She's fine, as it were. Nothing's changed._

There was something bitterly resigned about the way he used the phrase, as if he didn't expect her to ever recover. Iroh knew that he hoped anyway, though, and maybe that constant dichotomy had worn the Fire Lord down even more.

Iroh lifted the lid of the teapot a fraction and checked the color of the brew; it wasn't nearly dark enough yet, and he lowered the lid once more with the slight _clink_ of china. He had seen the exhaustion—not always physical, but always emotional—stealing over his nephew, and despite constant communication via letters and as many visits as their schedules could manage, Iroh had been relatively helpless to prevent it.

Zuko had begun walling himself off again, retreating to the secluded protection of his mind, and the only time Iroh had managed to sense the same spirit from him was in the portions of letters when he mentioned Katara: how she had dropped by with Aang, or how she had written this or that in one of their missives. He could almost imagine his nephew smiling again when he read those parts.

Iroh peeked at the tea and gave a low chuckle of delight. He carefully lifted the pot and poured some of the steaming liquid into his cup, savoring the aroma before he took a long, calculating sip. His eyes crinkled at the corners as the flavor washed over his tongue, and he inwardly pronounced the tea a rousing success.

The Dragon of the West had observed the same change being wrought over Zuko, only more blatantly so, when he had seen the two young benders together. He had always liked Katara; they didn't have the same relationship as he and Toph, but then again the waterbender hadn't adopted him as her surrogate father like the earthbender had. But he admired her strength and her spirit and her compassion, and he remembered that she had trusted his nephew before any of the rest, that she had been capable of giving him the benefit of the doubt, even if Zuko had ultimately betrayed that faith.

And time had been good to her, he recognized. She had grown up well, become a woman worthy of Zuko's obvious deep regard and respect, although she truly had always been that way.

Iroh sipped again contemplatively, simultaneously weighing the body of the tea and his paternal musings. He had, perhaps, been too obvious and eager with his matchmaking, but he wanted to see Zuko happy. The moments when Zuko had experienced real joy were far too few and far between, but Iroh would have had to be blinder than Toph not to realize that those moments were largely concentrated around a certain waterbender.

The former general smiled, inhaling the delicate scent of his tea once more. Zuko and Katara loved each other on some level, that much he was certain of, and he was very optimistic that it would only be a matter of time before he would be blessed with another niece.

Dim shouts echoed throughout the ship, dragging Iroh from his thoughts. He set his cup down carefully and strode as quickly to the door as his somewhat stiff and aging legs would allow; he cracked it open and peered around the metal frame just in time to see a soldier dashing past.

Frowning, Iroh emerged into the corridor, amber eyes sharpening as he searched for a clue. More muffled yells reached his ears, and he headed in that direction; the yells didn't have the same timbre as those during battle, more resembling shouted commands, but he nevertheless proceeded with much haste up to the bridge.

He stopped involuntarily on the threshold, taken aback by the sight that greeted him. A soldier squeezed around him, looking panicky, but Iroh only saw his nephew hurling commands at the captain.

"Get us out of here! Right now!"

"Y-Yes, sire!" the captain replied, pulling the appropriate levers on the console to signal the engineers below to start up the gigantic engines.

Iroh's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the Fire Lord. Zuko was bare-chested and dripping wet, and from what the elder could see of his expression, he looked absolutely livid. He didn't entertain the conclusions that others might have jumped to at the sight—he knew his nephew far better than to ever disgrace him by assuming _that_—but he still felt that Katara had to have something to do with it. Call it instinct.

"_Now, captain!_" Zuko roared, one of his fists slamming down on the console.

"Th-the engines, sire, they need to warm up—"

The captain cut himself off as Zuko threw back his head and expelled fire at the ceiling. Iroh squinted reflexively as the heat washed over him in a searing wave, but that seemed to be the Fire Lord's parting remark, as he stormed towards the doorway. He hesitated, almost invisibly, when he saw his uncle standing there, but then he simply plowed by, his shoulder making uncaring contact with Iroh's.

The elder firebender remained still for a long moment, processing, and then he glanced apologetically at the quaking captain. "I am sorry for my nephew's behavior," he said gruffly. "Please get the ship out of here as soon as possible, but you need not kill yourself to do so."

The captain managed a shaking nod, appearing marginally relieved by that.

Iroh turned and followed Zuko through the ship; it was easy enough, since the younger man was making no attempt to disguise his presence, stomping his bare feet hard against the metal floors and even occasionally pounding a furious fist into the walls. And when a resounding slam echoed down the corridors, Iroh knew that Zuko had just shut the door to his cabin so hard it was a wonder the portal hadn't snapped off at the hinges.

The former general raised a hand and gently rapped his knuckles against the door.

"Go away!" Zuko harshly snapped from within.

He eased the door open an inch but wisely did not attempt to enter; flames broke against the door as Zuko blindly lashed out at the intruder. Iroh waited a heartbeat more before he strode inside, one hand rising almost absently to swat the second burst of fire away.

Zuko had enough presence of mind to appear surprised and somewhat ashamed as he recognized his visitor. "I—Uncle, I didn't—if I had known…" He gave his head a sharp shake and turned around stubbornly, facing his row of candles. "Just get out of here!" he barked, shoulders hunched as he concentrated on the candles' flames.

Iroh could tell he was trying to meditate, _trying_ being the operative word. The little pillars of wax were melting at accelerated speeds as their wicks were consumed with erratic, explosive flames. Instead of being a demonstration of his control, it only served to emphasize how little control he was able to exert. They spat and flared at random, sending little sparks up to lick at the ceiling, and the bender's breathing, harsh and labored, was audible even over the fire's sizzling hiss.

"What has happened, my nephew?" Iroh asked quietly, closing the door carefully behind him.

For a moment, he didn't think Zuko would respond as the candles seethed more violently than ever before. But then: "She betrayed me, Uncle!" A pause, a sharply inhaled breath. "Why did she refuse?"

So it did involve Katara, then, Iroh mused. "I am not sure I understand," he offered, inviting the other to explain.

"She won't help me!" he growled, the tendons standing out on the backs of his hands as his knuckles went white. "She knows she's my last chance, and she refused! Why would she do that to me? Why?"

Iroh seated himself beside his nephew and raised a calming hand, dimming the wild flames. He studied the younger sidelong, both concerned and curious to determine the root of this conflict. "What did she not agree to do, Zuko?"

His face twisted into a grimace, the deadened tissue of his scar wrinkling more than usual, and when he spoke, Iroh saw for the first time that not all his fury was directed at the waterbender. "I shouldn't have asked her," he breathed, softer now but still angry. "But I had to, don't you see? I'm out of options and nearly out of hope and she should've understood that! She shouldn't have refused!" His voice had risen to a yell again.

Iroh sighed inwardly; it would seem he was getting nowhere in discovering the specifics. Instead, he laid a calloused hand on his nephew's bare shoulder, and while Zuko flinched under the touch, he did not shrug the gesture away.

"I'm sure you two will sort this out," he said bracingly.

The Fire Lord snorted and brought his knees up to his chest, resting his crossed arms on them. "Doubtfully," he grumbled. "She's too stubborn. Agni, why didn't she just agree?" The last part almost sounded like a plea.

Iroh removed his hand and stroked his pointed beard, merely watching for a long moment as the other bowed his chin to his arms, hunkering down into his folded frame. At length he sighed. "I can't help you with this if you won't tell me what's going on," he said, marginally exasperated as he probed for answers once more.

Zuko glanced at his uncle from the corner of his eye, weighing how much he should reveal. Iroh probably wouldn't think too highly of a scheme to interrogate Ozai using unpleasant means and even less of trying to rope Katara into it, and Iroh's good opinion meant everything to the formerly banished prince.

"Katara knows this…bending form," he muttered vaguely. "I wanted her to use it to help me."

Iroh waited, expecting more, but it soon became clear that Zuko had said all he was going to say. He rose to his feet and looked down at the younger man. "I only hope, my nephew, that your objective was important enough to you to risk breaking your friendship."

Zuko turned his face away. The silence hung in the air like a tangible iron cloud, and the candles' flames simmered audibly and cast flickering patterns of light and shadow on the walls, on their skin.

When Iroh returned to his cabin, the lukewarm tea was acrid on his tongue.

* * *

The former warship turned in a slow, broad arc, its decorative bow gradually pointing out to sea. Smoke belched from its stacks, dark and poisonous against the softly bluing skies of dawn.

Katara watched it retreat with weary eyes still veiled with tears; she didn't know if they were from the distress she'd suffered or were by now merely a product of being awake too early for too long. She wasn't aware of the pain originating in her hand, which had closed too tightly on her mother's necklace to the point where the edges of the disk dug into her flesh. She wasn't even sure how she remained standing: the emotional exhaustion had dumped atop the physical until it was a mystery how her knees had not buckled beneath the overwhelming, suffocating weight.

She swayed slightly on her feet, her limbs stiff and her joints frozen, and she was so out of it she couldn't even muster any surprise when a voice originated as if from nowhere.

"Hey, where's Zuko going?" Aang asked, landing lightly at her side and snapping his glider shut.

She shrugged lethargically. "Back, I suppose," she murmured, hardly loud enough to be heard over the crash of the waves.

"Aw, this sucks," the Avatar grumbled childishly. "I had been hoping to see more of him." He paused, only just becoming aware of her appearance. "What's with you? Are you okay?"

Her lids slid shut, and the lashes stuck together from the surplus of salty tears. "Not now, Aang."

He stepped around her, endeavoring to see more of her expression, and his own worsened as a result. "You don't look good, Tara. So what—"

"I said _not now, Aang!_" she vociferated, eyes blazing as she pinned him with an infuriated glare, the kind of fury available only to those at the end of their rope. "Spirits, just leave it alone!" And then, softer, almost disgusted, "I'm going to bed."

Aang watched her stalk back into the scraggly forest, completely flummoxed. He glanced at Zuko's rapidly disembarking vessel and briefly gauged the distance; with a combination of fire- and airbending, he would still be able to catch the ship and perhaps wheedle an explanation out of Zuko, since his girlfriend certainly wasn't being cooperative. But…

He huffed a sigh and turned his back on the bay. With time and patience, Katara would explain. Until then, he would simply wait.

* * *

Immersing himself in political and economic flotsam up to his eyeballs had not had the effect Zuko had hoped for; his heart still ached and his brain still blamed Katara. It was as if he could not avoid the subject, no matter how much he tried to throw his entire concentration into the delicate process of rebuilding a nation. He would meet with foreign dignitaries and think of Aang, which of course led his thoughts down only one path; he would receive all sorts of documents by air and land and sea and each time experience a bitter, corrosive kind of hope that this letter would be the one in which she had reconsidered, in which she had agreed to help him.

But they never were, and a week slid past, and it was Tuesday.

His footsteps were far heavier than usual as he strode along the winding stone path and waded uncaringly through puddles, his gaze fixed on a spot some six inches ahead of his boots. He wished for a moment that Iroh had stayed, but his uncle had caught a boat to the Earth Kingdom several days past after striving in the interim to get Zuko to confess. But the Fire Lord had held steady, and Iroh had departed in ignorance of his foiled plot.

Head still bowed, Zuko didn't even bother inquiring at the front desk of the healing house; he merely passed it by, his tread as slow as it had been and somehow disjointed as he ascended the staircase and trudged down the appropriate hallway. His pace wavered as he approached his destination to the point where his feet weren't even properly lifting from the floors, just shuffling along like a poorly handled puppet.

_Not everyone can puppet-bend, Zuko._

He sneered—derisively, half-heartedly—as her dream-words echoed in the hollowness of his head. He had thought he'd received some epiphany, that Agni had finally deigned to allow him happiness, only to have his fragile hope shot down and destroyed.

Part of him felt that he couldn't blame her: asking her to potentially torture a man wasn't exactly decent. But most of him was mired in bitterness, convinced that she was being selfish and paradoxically moralistic, especially considering that he had helped her track down her mother's killer, and all he wanted was to track down his mother. His quest wasn't about vengeance—it was about family.

And she should've understood that.

He leaned his forehead against the smooth wood of Azula's door and closed his eyes. That phrase was becoming a mantra for him: every time he tripped across this subject, which was much too frequently, he would lament that she should've understood. She should've understood everything. He thought that was what she did, a core part of Katara's being: listening and sympathizing and understanding.

She had, after all, understood with much less provocation in the past. He could still remember their first real conversation, trapped in the catacombs beneath Ba Sing Se—how they had bonded over a mutual loss, how she had come to see a different side of him and he of her. He could still remember the rush of surprise and painful hope when she had offered to heal his scar like he hadn't been her archenemy for the past year; another hope, he realized grimly, prematurely dashed.

But most of all he remembered how her hand had felt on his scar. He raised his own hand to it, fingertips lying gently on the folded flesh. Aside from the initial medic and Iroh when it was still healing, no one had ever touched his scar. He guarded it fiercely, as if believing that while everyone might see it, no one could touch it, and that would somehow make it less real, more like a nightmare than a nightmarish reality.

He had let her, though, this girl he barely knew. That couldn't mean nothing. And it hadn't; it had almost prophesized how close they would later become, how close they were…at least until now.

He dropped his hand and stared blindly at the wood grain before he finally eased the door open.

The room was dreary: no lanterns or candles were lit, and the only light came from the floor-length window overlooking the lake, since the others had their curtains drawn. The rain outside streaked down the glass, blurring the view, but that did not deter Azula, who sat as ever in her wheeled chair before the window.

Zuko walked over to her, his steps now heavy for a different reason, and sat down in another chair, this one possessing the usual four legs. He offered a smile at Azula when she glanced at him; she made no move to return the gesture, dulled amber eyes simply flickering back to the window. The faint gray light washed over her and stole the color from her countenance, painting her in monochrome shades, and Zuko thought it made her look like something snatched from a half-remembered dream.

"I'm sorry I missed seeing you last week," he began softly, shoulders hunched forwards, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. "I had to go somewhere. A wedding, actually. I don't suppose you remember Sokka and Suki, and even if you do, I'm sure it's not with much fondness," he added with dark humor and no smile.

Azula gazed at him vacantly for several seconds and then replied, "I made some tea today."

He smiled now, faintly, sadly, and rose to his feet. He walked around the back of her chair, not wanting to block her view even for the minutest of moments, and lifted the lid of Iroh's teapot, not expecting to actually find any liquid inside. So it was with considerable surprise that he spied the darkish tea; he managed to recover with commendable speed, and he reheated the lukewarm dish.

He handed her a cup, which she took delicately—not as if she didn't remember how, but as if she were peripherally nervous she'd drop it—and kept one for himself. He leaned back more comfortably in his chair now and breathed in the fragrant steam. It at least smelled like tea, which was more than he could say for some of his own attempted brews.

He took a tentative sip, even more stunned when it tasted smooth and, well, _right_ on his tongue. He couldn't have been more shocked if Iroh had popped out of nowhere and claimed rights to the tea-making.

"This is delicious, Azula," he said, doing his best to keep his astonishment out of his voice, as it seemed rather rude.

_Don't act so surprised, Zuzu; I _am_ a prodigy, after all,_ he could imagine her saying. That was not, of course, what she actually responded with.

"Uncle Iroh taught me," she said instead.

Zuko barely restrained himself from spewing scalding tea everywhere. He choked uncouthly and coughed at length, but he at last found his voice, even if it were hoarser than previously. "Uncle Iroh?" he echoed, uncertain if he could take any more surprises today. "So you remember him?"

Azula looked at him, vaguely puzzled. "Remember who?"

And once again, his hopes collapsed in on themselves, and he had to force his fingers to loosen, lest he shatter the fragile china cup. "You should drink your tea," he said blandly, thickly, as he also stared out the window, aware that the blurriness had nothing to do with the rain. "It'll get cold."

She tilted her head to one side and studied the cup, as if she'd completely forgotten it was there. "Oh," was all she said in reply. She raised it slowly to her lips, and it hovered incompletely for a minute before she lowered it again, her fractured thoughts obviously elsewhere.

"You're right," she murmured distantly, eyes fixed on the rain. "It is good."

Zuko found his mouthful nearly impossible to swallow.

Silence fell, not even properly broken by the constant, quiet pitter-patter of raindrops striking the window, and Zuko quietly finished his tea without looking at his sister. He could not stand to see the expression of blank contentment on her features, as though she expected no more than this from life and were perfectly happy with that. And he could not stand to see her fingers poised on the cup that she believed she had already drunk from.

Azula eventually shifted in her chair, settling her waif-like frame more comfortably. The teacup remained carefully balanced in her lap, and when her eyes had stayed shut for some time, Zuko began to harbor the notion that she'd fallen asleep. But then she spoke, and his heart broke a little more.

"Mother," she said softly, not opening her eyes, "will you braid my hair?"

Again, he experienced the pain of her lightning. He wasn't sure how he found his voice this time. "Yes, yes, of course," he agreed, setting his empty cup aside and taking up a position behind her. Lifting a brush, he worked it through the black locks, careful not to snag on any tangles. He remembered the first time she had made this request, almost three years ago. He had fudged the job then, unaware of the intricacies of braiding, and it was only by fate's intervention that Aang and Katara had stopped by the capital soon after, allowing him to take advantage of her knowledge.

Katara had begun wearing a braid again, after all, he mused absently as his fingers wove his sister's long tresses into a single chain. It wasn't completely braided—half of the wavy locks still hung loose—but he didn't pretend to have much expertise in the matter. He was just grateful she had shared the secret with him, because who could've guessed that it involved three sections of hair, anyway?

As he finished, knotting a ribbon at the end, he wondered briefly why he had never allowed Katara to accompany him on these visits. He treated his sister like his scar in that respect: no one was allowed, except Iroh and the medics. But he had let Katara near his scar, so perhaps…

He dismissed the thought with a grimace as reality intruded. Yes, perhaps _before_, but not now. And the most regrettable part was that Katara was naturally good at these types of things, as maternal as you could get without actually being a mother.

Choking down a sigh, he carefully draped Azula's braided hair over her shoulder and resumed his seat. He watched as she disengaged her hands from the teacup and cradled her braid instead, her fingers lightly stroking the smooth ripples. And then she smiled, ever so faintly.

"Thank you, Zuzu," she said.

He looked at her sharply, but the moment of lucidity seemed to have passed, as her gaze was fixated on the falling rain once more. And he wondered, bitterly, if it weren't that she were _more _coherent, but actually that she were _less_, and hallucinating that he was their mother and then that their mother was him.

His jaw clenched until it ached.

"You're welcome," he finally breathed.

* * *

The guard snapped swiftly to attention as the rain-drenched Fire Lord approached, looking for all the world like he was on a warpath. Zuko was moving so fast that the guard had barely completed his salute before the other man had wrenched open the door and continued on down the hallway, his steps loud and echoing in the prison.

Zuko stormed down the corridor towards the only cell it hosted, and he ground to a stop before the bars, literally trembling with rage.

"You're getting me wet," drawled a voice from the shadows within.

Zuko glared into the darkened cell, barely able to see straight. "Tell me where my mother is, you sick, demented bastard!" he roared, throttling the bars for good measure.

Ozai smirked grimly in his corner, and he rose to his feet and approached his son. Prison had not been good to the once-and-never Phoenix King: his long hair was ratty and tangled, and his beard now covered the whole of his jaw and cheeks; his chiseled features were somewhat sunken and hollowed-out, the skin even paler from lack of sun, and his muscular frame had atrophied from inactivity.

His eyes, though, were the same: cunning and dark amber, they locked on Zuko's furious ones.

"You seem angry, Zuko," he said, his tone somehow still managing to carry condescension, despite their rather reversed positions. "Is the life of a goody-two-shoes not all it's cracked up to be?"

"Shut up!" the Fire Lord roared. "Just tell me where she is, or so help me, I'll _kill_ _you!_"

Ozai shook his head and made a little tutting sound. "Now, now, think this through. If you kill me, how will you get any information? Really, Zu—"

"I'll _almost_ kill you!" he amended with a snarl, reaching through the bars and fisting his hands in the collar of his father's dirty prison tunic. He yanked the elder against the bars, nearly nose to nose. "So tell me where she is!"

Ozai laughed, a hollow, mocking sound. "You could never hurt me, Zuko. It'd be against your cherished honor, torturing a defenseless prisoner. And, if I recall correctly, honor was so important to you in the past…" He trailed off, one hand rising towards his son's scar.

Zuko jerked his head away and shoved the other contemptuously. "Maybe honor doesn't apply to you," he growled, still quaking with anger. He turned to go, spat a plume of fire, and spun on his heel once more. "How can you just sit there and refuse?" he demanded, golden eyes hard. "Don't you know what's happened to Azula? Don't you even care?"

The former ruler shrugged apathetically as he reclined cross-legged against the wall. "I'm aware of her problems. She would not be having them if she weren't so weak."

"Weak?" Zuko echoed, far past incredulous. "Weak? You think this happened because she's _weak?_ What kind of monster are you? By Agni, she's your _daughter!_ And you don't even care!"

Another shrug. "Azula was a valuable pawn, but she ultimately failed in her uses," he remarked, sounding almost bored. "It is a pity she didn't manage to kill you before she lost her mind."

Zuko could only stare at the man he had once considered his father. Destroying him from the inside out using bloodbending would be too kind a death for him. After exhaling another helpless burst of fire, he stalked from the corridor, taking great care to slam the door with considerable violence.

In the shadows of his cell, Ozai laughed softly to himself.


	7. sept

* * *

_**Beyond the Rising Sun**_

_**vii.**_

Deep in the Earth Kingdom, in a rural village several dozen miles south of Ba Sing Se, Katara sat in a window seat with her knees drawn to her chest and her face turned to the sky. Outside, the sun shone brightly, casting small dark shadows in its noontide glow, and she absently observed a pair of children dance in and out of the trees, laughing and smiling.

Her forehead crumpled slightly, and she let out the softest of sighs.

"What's eating you?" came a very familiar voice, but she didn't spare the Avatar a glance. "You've been moody for weeks. No offense," he tacked on hastily, aware of her temper.

But Katara had no energy to be insulted, and she simply gave a listless shrug. "I dunno. Thinking, I guess."

Aang approached her, his bare feet padding quietly on the wooden floor, and reclined on the other end of the seat, one leg dangling. He leaned his staff easily against one shoulder and tilted his head back against the frame. "You've been thinking ever since we left Kyoshi, and that was a month ago," he said quietly, gray eyes bright with honest concern.

Another subtle shrug—the gesture barely moved her shoulders.

Aang pressed on valiantly. "So…what've you been thinking about?"

She squinted slightly as she watched a hawk wheeling above the forest, a dark silhouette against the almost painfully blue skies. "Everything," she offered unhelpfully, "and nothing. I don't know, really. I just…I just feel disorientated somehow. Disorientated?" she queried, and her arms tightened briefly around her legs. "Maybe that's not the right word."

He studied her for a silent moment and then stated more than asked, "It has something to do with Zuko, doesn't it?"

Something flickered in her eyes, but she didn't blink. "I don't know," she echoed, her voice scarcely audible. "I suppose it could. But I think it's somehow more than that." She shook her head, not in any sort of denial but as an expression of overall confusion. "I wish I knew," she admitted.

Aang raised his dangling leg and gently poked her shin with the toe of his boot. "I'm sure Zuko's fine, whatever he's doing. Probably very busy, but that's nothing new," he said in general reassurance. "He's got a lot on his plate, but then again, so do I." He huffed and then returned to his original question. "So. Enough about Zuko. What about you? With all this thinking, you must be hoping to achieve something. So what do you want?"

Her lashes meshed briefly. She wanted a resolution to her internal dilemma, to the dialogue she kept having with herself over and over again without a satisfactory conclusion. She wanted confirmation that she'd done the right thing, and she wanted not to experience the niggling sensation that she'd utterly failed him somehow. She wanted… "Perspective," she finally confessed. She glanced at him, the first eye contact she'd made that day, but her gaze slid aside too quickly. "What do you want, Aang?"

The Avatar shifted his weight, aware that she was dodging the question to the best of her ability. She had dropped a tantalizing clue, but he couldn't see himself being able to pry more of an explanation out of her; Katara had the ability to be far more obstinate than he did. Perhaps, though, if he answered with complete honesty, she would feel obligated—no, more like inspired—to open her heart.

He could remember a time when they had been each other's confidantes, when there had been no secrets between them at all, when the long hours on Appa's back had been spent just talking. He wondered what had happened to that connection. It wasn't gone, but it was…altered, somehow. Did this happen with age, or had something unforeseen affected them?

Aang gave himself a mental shake and refocused. He would first determine how serious she was being, if she actually wanted to know, or if she were merely deflecting. "In reference to what, Tara?"

One hand disengaged from her legs and waved idly. "Everything, I guess. Goals, dreams. Life."

"Life? That's a big question," he replied with a light, breathy laugh, and he settled comfortably again in the window seat. "I bet you expect me to say something noble, right? Like world peace and balance and all that. But…" He trailed off with a sigh and a sad little smile. "Saying that would be a bit of a lie. Not entirely, but a bit."

Katara waited patiently, intrigued now, blue eyes watching his downcast gray.

He spoke at a measured pace, as if to impress the importance of each word. "I want…to not be the last airbender."

A ghost of a smile flitted across her face, and she was glad he had his priorities straight. She had a suspicion that she had not been foremost in his life for some time, but then again, that was as it should be.

As it always should have been.

"And do you have a plan, O powerful Avatar?" she said with just a shade of her old, familiar teasing.

His eyes narrowed in thought, and he idly passed his staff from hand to hand. "We-e-ell, I have something of a plan. See, it's always been an option to, er…_make _more airbenders, as it were," he said, blushing, "but I don't think it would work out all that well. Even, say, if you and I got married…"

Like I'm just some example, she thought, noting his phrasing. Like he didn't intend it to be me, but that I fit the bill nicely enough for an analogy. We really have regressed, haven't we, Aang?

He continued, oblivious of her internal analysis. "We could have children, two or three, and maybe some of them would be airbenders. But bending's not determined by blood—I mean, neither of your parents were benders—it's a spiritual thing. And while I am the Avatar, and so that would certainly increase the possibility…it's still too remote. For all we know, we'd just have waterbenders, if any benders at all."

Her body relaxed somewhat, and she leaned her knees against the window pane. "Sounds like you've given this a lot of thought."

He bobbed his head. "Yeah. That's why I've come up with a different idea. It's still making airbenders, but in a completely different way."

She arched an eyebrow, interested and peripherally disturbed. "Er…there's another way?"

Aang hunched forward, clearly fully engaged in the topic and also clearly oblivious of how she'd interpreted his comment. "Mmhm," he hummed affirmatively. "You remember how I defeated Ozai, right? Spiritbending? Well, I figure…if I can take _away_ someone's bending, then I should also be able to grant it. Or perhaps even alter it. I don't know, really," he said swiftly, "since I haven't tried. But I don't know who'd consent to that kind of experiment."

"There could be people," she answered. "You never know."

"I thought that, too. So…perhaps if I find people willing to become Air Nomads, I could resurrect the entire culture. It would be much faster than the, er, old-fashioned way. There could be dozens of airbenders within months! Think of it!"

His eyes sparkled with the possibility, and she found herself smiling at his sheer hope. Hope, as usual, against all the odds. The Avatar was one of a kind, in more ways than the obvious.

"You gonna advertise or something?" she asked jokingly, her humor returning in light of this distraction. "'Want to airbend? Sign up and talk to Aang!'?"

For just a second, he pouted childishly. "Don't make fun, Tara. I think it would work."

She sat up a little straighter. "You _are_ going to advertise?"

"Well, not advertise, really," he said with a nervous little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not selling anything. Just get the word out, more like. Let people know it's an option. I mean, being a monk _is _a way of life…the pursuit of the spiritual might appeal to some people, and those are the kinds of people who'd make great airbenders."

Katara held up her hands, indicating her surrender. "Alright, alright. I see your point. Still, though…this spiritbending thing. Do you really think it could work?"

Aang chewed his lip for a moment as he gazed out the window. "It worked on Ozai, didn't it? And the lion-turtle…it's ancient, Katara." His tone softened with reverence. "It's the most ancient spirit of them all, far older than Koh or Hebi or the Avatar. It's not just _of_ the land; it _is_ the land. It carries it on its back, ferrying a little bit of our world to the Spirit World and back. I may be the bridge between the worlds, but it's the foundation."

She stretched her arms briefly while shooting him a puzzled look. "How so, exactly?"

Aang waved a hand. "I'm not completely sure. I may have Avatar wisdom, but even that's bits and pieces of the truth. What I've gathered, though, is that the lion-turtle was the first link between the worlds, the first to cross back and forth. No, no, that's not right—how can I put this?" He put his fists to his temples, deep in thought. "It's not like me—it's not a bridge. It's not something of one world traveling to the other. It's somehow…of both. Part of both. Belonging in one as much as the other."

Katara blinked, pausing halfway through her continued stretches, her torso twisted to one side; her spine crackled in the ensuing silence. "Is that even possible?" she asked, incredulous.

Aang shrugged. "It must be, right? How else can it be explained? What I know for sure, though, is this: for all Zuko's talk of how firebenders learned from the dragons, and Toph's of earthbenders and badger-moles, and mine of sky bison and yours of the moon…that's not the real truth. That's not the _beginning_."

"And you've completely lost me now," she remarked, slumping back against the frame, eyes straying briefly back to the sky beyond the window.

"It's like this," he persisted, leaning forward once more. "To firebend or earthbend or whatever, first you must be able to _bend_. To manipulate your chi, which later is applied to your respective element. Spiritbending is more or less the basic technique, the core of all bending. It could really just be called 'bending'. And dragons may have taught firebending, but the lion-turtle taught bending. It taught those people more spiritually inclined how to use their chi, and then they mimicked whatever creature to use it with a certain element. And if all bending types are basically the same…"

"Then you should be able to create more airbenders," Katara finished for him, something akin to awe dawning on her face. "Twi and La…that's…that's…"

"Ridiculous, isn't it?" Aang supplied with a wry smile. "I'm not entirely sure how to do it; I'm sure it's a more delicate process than the, er, unbending that I did with Ozai. But if I can track down the lion-turtle again, I should be able to learn how to awaken a specific type of bending. And then I can find willing non-benders, or earthbenders or firebenders or waterbenders who want to switch, and the Air Nomads can return."

His voice softened at the end, and his eyes acquired a distant cast as he gazed back over the years to his childhood in the Southern Air Temple. Sky bison grazing, lemurs scurrying everywhere, and airbenders talking and laughing and _living_. It was almost too good to even dream about.

Something old and forgotten clicked in Katara's memory. "Wait—that's why Jun couldn't track you, isn't it? You were with the lion-turtle, and it's not wholly of this world…you were probably in the Spirit World, at least partially, so…"

Aang, looking vaguely amused, returned to the present. "You tried to track me with that bounty hunter?"

Katara stared at him for a moment before half-smiling, half-grimacing. "Ah…we never told you? It was all Zuko's idea. It led us to General Iroh, in any event, so it really all worked out in the end. I never did understand why she said you were _gone_, though. Except now I do," she amended.

While she stopped speaking, though, a train of thought continued chugging along in the back of her mind. It was busy connecting the dots of Zuko and Jun's shirsu with its incredible sense of smell and his lost mother…

She physically reeled as the conclusion struck home. Couldn't Zuko track Ursa via Jun? But then she frowned, disheartened. Certainly he would have considered that option, probably even tried it out. He doubtlessly had nothing of his mother's; Ozai would have cleared out her possessions years ago. But Ozai couldn't have been so heartless, could he? She knew firsthand what a bastard he was—look what he'd done to Zuko, what he'd indirectly done to Azula, not to mention the entire world—but perhaps he had kept something of his wife's, locked it away somewhere…

…and if he would confess that…

_I will never, ever turn my back on people who need me!_

She inwardly cringed as her own words came back to her. She had said that in defense of actions involving people she didn't even know, actions which had eventually included destroying an entire factory—with the Avatar's help, no less! She liked to think that statement defined her, but she had failed to live up to it before. Look what had happened to Jet—she had abandoned him in those dungeons below the lake; so what if the Dai Li had been closing in? She still should've stayed, a decision which haunted the edges of her conscious to this day.

And look what she'd done to Zuko. He just wanted to find his mother, to reunite his shattered family and regain some semblance of home. In the names of Twi and La and all the spirits, she knew how that felt, knew how desperately she had craved that kind of completion and how devastated she had always felt when she remembered that she could never have it again.

Kya was gone for good. But Ursa could still come back.

She could no longer deny him that.

"Katara? Hello?" Aang was waving his hand in front of her blank and staring eyes, startling her and bringing her back to the present with a bump. "What happened? You got all glassy-eyed…"

"What phase of the moon is it tonight?" she asked abruptly, rising so swiftly to her feet she nearly tripped herself; she had to clutch the corner of the window seat's frame to keep herself upright.

Aang rose also, though more slowly and with a frown. "It's almost full. It should be full in several days."

"Several days?" she echoed, running the calculations through her head. "Do you think we could make it to the Fire Nation capital before then?"

He scratched his clean-shaven scalp, right on the edge of his arrow tattoo. "If we really, really rushed, I bet we'd just make it. But why? What's suddenly so important?"

Katara hesitated, images and words flashing through her mind from that night on Kyoshi Island. He had asked her—no, he had _begged _her, and she had refused. And for what? Some little moral dilemma? It wasn't as if she would make a habit of it, and what he had said had been cruel but true: if it were possible to get her mother back by bloodbending, she would do it in a heartbeat. She would bend the very world to her will if it meant reclaiming the one she'd lost. She would never have faltered.

She shouldn't have refused.

She sighed, her whole frame collapsing with the motion before the following inhalation straightened her once more; a spark of determination had rekindled in her eyes, and she carried her head higher than she had in weeks.

"I didn't make a promise, but I should have, and now I intend to keep it," she said in lieu of anything approaching an explanation, already briskly heading for the door.

Aang stared after her in bewilderment, but then he shrugged aside his questions and hurried out to his no-longer-napping sky bison and his impatient traveling companion.

"Aang, come on! Time is not a luxury we possess!" she said as she scrambled atop Appa's back.

The Avatar merely airbent himself onto his furry friend's head and grumbled inwardly that time was never a luxury he had possessed. With a snap of the reins, the Earth Kingdom disappeared below the clouds.

* * *

The setting sun streaked long shadows across the craggy volcanic terrain, and Appa huddled in one of the patches of darkness, growling softly as Katara leapt down from his back. Aang stood on his bison's head, staff gripped tightly in both hands and face taut with something bordering on disapproval.

If Katara noticed, she made no mention of it and merely continued pulling on her dark clothing.

At length, Aang exhaled irritably through his nose and leapt down after her. "Alright, Katara, what the hell's going on?" he demanded, his expression no more pleasant than before.

She didn't spare him a glance and replied evasively, "Like I said, I'm keeping a promise."

"Oh, really?" he sneered. "A promise that involves landing up here, out of sight, and you in secretive clothing? Last time you snuck around like this you tried to kill a man, Katara, and—"

"But I didn't, did I?" she snapped, glaring at him severely. "Do you have so little faith in me, Aang?"

Gray eyes narrowed. "Concerning matters like this, no," he replied bluntly. "You have this…dark side to you, and I don't know what to make of it. I can't understand it at all, and what's worse is that I can't even stop you."

"You're not my keeper," she spat back, her tone hard and edged. She strode past him, not caring that her shoulder caught him in the chest, and said without turning her head, "You shouldn't be able to stop me."

His frown deepened at that retort, and his knuckles became bloodless. "I didn't ask for an explanation when we left the Earth Kingdom. I simply accepted that you had to help Zuko in some way or another. That's all well and good—he's my friend, too, and I care about his well-being just as much as you do. But Zuko's indulged your darkness before, and if you're here for some sort of weird thrill ride—"

"Do you even hear yourself?" she asked, spinning on her heel and cutting him off. "Stop being so damn self-righteous for once and broaden your mind. Perhaps the only way to make good is to sometimes dabble in evil. Besides," she continued, realizing she might have said too much, "you don't know why I'm here or what I'm doing or if it's even Zuko. So stop jumping to conclusions and let me do this."

He stared at her levelly, his lips a thin line. "I know what bloodbending does to you. I saw as much when you learned it from Hama. Yet you're willing to risk it?"

"I never said anything about bloodbending," she replied feebly. She never had been good at lying.

Aang rolled his eyes. "Do you think I'm an idiot? A stupid kid? I can do the math, Katara! You asked about the phases of the moon, and you obviously needed to get here by the full moon, and you told me years ago that you could only bloodbend during times like this! And of course this involves Zuko; why else would we come to the Fire Nation capital? To sample the cuisine? Come _on_, Katara—give me some credit!"

She huffed and threw up her hands. "Alright, alright! So this might involve Zuko, and it might even involve bloodbending, but you know what, Aang?"

He nearly stepped back as she jabbed her forefinger in his face, but he ultimately did not give any ground.

"It's still none of your damn business," she grated out, "and you're still not my keeper. _Goodnight._"

And with that, she stalked off into the shadows, adjusting the position of her cloth mask.

Aang stared after her, half weary and half angry. "She doesn't know what she's doing," he complained bitterly to Appa. "She's being stupid. _Again_. Isn't she, boy?"

Appa only yawned in reply.

* * *

Zuko gazed blankly at his reflection, not really looking at the mirror so much as he just happened to be standing in front of it. He had visited Ozai for the umpteenth time, and no matter what he said or how he said it, his father always saw right through him. The elder knew every threat was an empty one, and Zuko wasn't sure which infuriated him more: the fact that Ozai could read him so easily, or the fact that he would never be able to issue a proper threat. It wasn't within his capabilities, it seemed, to be able to hurt those who could not defend themselves.

Fingers clenching into fists, Zuko regrettably admitted that he had too much honor for his own good. If Azula had been in his shoes, Ozai would've been on the rack and electrocuted years ago, and Ursa would already be back.

At the mention of his sister, though, his mood worsened further, if that were even possible.

Azula was the same as ever—every time she seemed to be making progress, to recover just a bit of her former clarity, she would just as suddenly regress. It was like that old saying, he thought, disheartened: one step forward, two steps back. The way things were going, Azula would never heal.

And again he thought, in a fit of bitter cynicism, maybe that was for the better.

Disgusted a second later that he had dared to entertain that idea, Zuko turned abruptly from the full-length mirror and ripped off one boot and hurled it with all his strength at the glass doors leading to his balcony. The panes shook with the impact, and the volume of it and the sight of the boot lying pathetically on the floor relieved some of his anger.

But then the balcony door swung open, someone masked and dressed in dark clothing pulling on the handle. Zuko slipped into a firebending stance, flames gathering at his fists, but never got the chance to attack, as his intruder spoke.

"Geez, Zuke, angry much?"

He blinked, dumbfounded, and only managed to say, "Katara?"

She nodded, tugging down her mask to reveal a nervous smile. "Hello…so…er…" She seemed at a loss on how to continue, but Zuko was experiencing no such difficulty.

"What the hell do you want?" he snapped gruffly, slipping from his stance into a more defensive pose, his arms crossed on his chest and his eyes narrowed.

She grimaced and shifted her weight on her feet. "I guess I don't deserve a better greeting than that," she admitted, and she wrung her hands for several silent moments before she retreated to the doorway, beckoning him to follow. "Come on. I want to show you something."

Zuko studied her, eyebrow arched, but relented and approached her stiffly. He did his best to quash the part of him that was glad to see her, and it wasn't too terribly difficult, since the majority of him was still nursing his wounds. He stopped several paces away from her, as if unwilling to risk touching her.

Katara seemed to notice, as she gnawed on her lip while eyeing the space between them, but she made no comment on it, instead gesturing towards the sky. "Look, Zuko."

He obeyed, glancing at the vista his balcony offered. The sky was bruised bluish-black, wispy clouds scattered across the heavens and obscuring some of the stars; the moon, though, hung unblemished, round and almost blindingly white. The capital city sprawled out beneath it all, hundreds of little spots of light indicating lamps and windows, and separating the city from the sky was the lip of the crater, pitch black and jaggedly edged.

"What?" he demanded at length, unable to see anything remotely interesting.

She flinched, almost unnoticeably, at his tone, but endeavored to explain all the same. "Look at the moon, Zuko. It's full."

"Yes, yes, how lovely," he retorted sarcastically, not even sparing her a condescending glance. He didn't want to risk getting caught up in her eyes and forgiving her for her decision. Her observation did tickle something in his memory, but he ignored it in favor of retaining his anger. Let her suffer as he had suffered.

Her shoulders slumped as he stalked away from the window and went straight for the door of his bedchamber. He hauled it open and made a sharp gesture, indicating that he wanted her gone.

"I don't even care to know how you got here," he said coldly, still not looking at her. "I just want you to leave again."

She didn't move except for the slightest continued collapse of her slender frame; her feet remained anchored to the floor. She simply watched him with sad eyes and exhaled a quiet sigh before speaking once more. "I'm sorry, Zuko, for what I said a month ago. I'm sorry for not agreeing to help you. I'm sorry for being blinded by my distaste of bloodbending and being unable to see how it could benefit you." She gathered herself, her shoulders squaring.

"To tell you the truth, I was being terribly selfish, and I am sorry for that most of all," she confessed. "But I'm not here just to apologize; I'm here to fulfill the promise I didn't make." She raised her hand halfway, a weak imitation of her previous gesture towards the night. "Full moon, Zuko. I can bloodbend. I _will _bloodbend. Tonight." She paused, and then added, "For you. For your happiness. I will."

Zuko's fingers loosened on the doorknob, and he finally looked directly at her, his mouth slipping open to voice words he could not say. His gaze floated slowly between the patch of sky he could glimpse and her blue eyes—regretful, sincere, resolute—for an indeterminable length of time before he could manage coherent speech.

"You—you're—you're going to…help me?" he finally ventured, scarcely daring to believe it. He had hoped to devastation too many times in the past.

She nodded, now smiling faintly, reassuringly. "Yes. I am."

He had crossed the room and crushed her in a fierce embrace before his thoughts caught up with his actions, but he had no chance to pull away, as her arms had curled around him as well. Relief flooded his system until he was dizzy with it, and he simply held her tighter, burying his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder and breathing in the faint salty scent of the sea.

"I'm sorry I made you wait," she said, her tone tinged again with remorse, and one of her gloved hands rose, the bare fingers threading comfortingly through his hair at the nape of his neck. "Although we wouldn't have been able to do anything until tonight, anyway," she added, a vague laugh riding that truth. "I'm still so sorry. I shouldn't have refused."

"No, you shouldn't have," he mumbled against her skin, and he finally, reluctantly pulled away from her; for someone who had grown up amidst ice and snow, she shouldn't have been so warm. Maybe, though, for someone who bent fire, he shouldn't have been so cold. "But at least you're here now," he said, his hands on her shoulders.

She nodded again, smiling somewhat crookedly. "I like to think that counts for something."

He chuckled at the comment, and his fingers tightened briefly before he let go of her entirely. "Yes. Well, I've tried to get Ozai to cave," he began, frowning and returning to the mission at hand, "but I've been completely unsuccessful. He knows that I would never stoop to torture. I don't really know how you want to go about this."

Katara waved a hand, her smirk taking on a certain devious quality. "Oh, don't worry about that. I already thought up a plan on the way here."

Zuko raised his good eyebrow. "You did? I…I see. Please, go right ahead."

"As long as you can smuggle me into the prison—since I doubt you'd want information about this…rendezvous…getting out—you can just leave it to me," she imparted. "Tell Ozai that I'm some professional torturer or something, and I will take care of the rest."

He regarded her for a long moment and then said, "You know, Katara, you can be scary sometimes."

"You ain't seen nothing yet," she quipped and laughed at his subsequent expression. "Come on, Zuko: let's go find your mother."

He smiled a rare genuine smile.

* * *

Lounging in the corner of his dark, cramped cell, Ozai listened idly to the utter silence of the capital's prison. The door of the corridor that hosted his cell was so far away that he couldn't even hear the guard shuffling or breathing; there was a steady drip of water somewhere, probably a leak or perhaps enough liquid had accumulated from the ever-present damp. His cell was underground, after all, in the prison's most secure area. There were no windows; the only light came from a torch halfway down the hall.

He wouldn't be able to bend it anyway. He opened his eyes and studied his fingers in the gloom, flexing them pointlessly. That kid—that stupid little bald kid—had somehow stolen his firebending and rendered him this useless shell. If he ever got out of here, or if the Avatar were ever foolish enough to pay him a visit, he would throttle the brat with his bare hands. He would show that self-righteous monk that he did not require bending to kill someone. All he needed was their throat within his reach.

He was distracted from his vague plans of vengeance by voices outside the hallway's door; he could not recognize them at this volume, but two people were clearly talking. And then the door opened, spilling torchlight in from the area without, and Zuko's silhouette appeared in the frame.

Ozai smirked to himself. So the boy had come again, doubtless to mouth some obviously false threat in an attempt to get him to spill information concerning Ursa's whereabouts. He laughed inside his mind; the idiot didn't even realize that Ozai had no idea where she was. She had disappeared a decade ago—how was he, trapped in a dank cell, supposed to know anything?

Zuko approached, hooded and cloaked, but Ozai knew that no one else would bother visiting him. His elder brother had come once, back when he had been newly dethroned, but Iroh had not shown his face since. And he had only stood there in silence anyway, regarding his brother through the bars with a somber expression on his face. Ozai hadn't provoked him, even though Iroh would never have harmed him; he was too soft and weak, like Zuko. No wonder the boy had turned into such a miserable failure, what with that pathetic excuse as a mentor.

"Ah, Zuko," Ozai said as the Fire Lord halted on the other side of the thick iron bars. "Dare I ask why you're here? No, please go on—I really am curious to see which horrific death threat you've thought up this time."

To his surprise, Zuko didn't rise to the bait; he merely lowered his cowl, allowing the distant torchlight to faintly illuminate his features. "No, Ozai. In fact, I am here to introduce you to someone." He glanced over his shoulder, and Ozai looked as well, curious despite himself. What had his pitiful spawn conceived this time?

Another figure entered from the outside corridor, this one clearly female, despite the cloth mask and the nondescript clothing: no male was capable of walking so sinuously. She approached until she stood alongside Zuko, and Ozai realized with internal amusement that she was shorter than his son. Didn't Zuko realize that part of beating the information out of someone involved using a goon of impressive size? Ozai wasn't about to suggest that small girls were incapable of terrible feats—just look at Azula: she might have ended up weaker than he would have liked, but she had a sadistic streak he had admired.

Physical presence, though, was important in these situations. Just went to show that his son had no experience in the realm of evil; he had always had an unnerving tendency to do things for some good, even if the good had only existed in some misguided fashion inside his head.

"Who's this?" Ozai asked, nonplussed. "Your girlfriend?"

"Hardly," the girl replied, and the former Fire Lord found himself interested despite himself; her accent certainly wasn't Fire Nation. Had Zuko imported a foreigner, just in case a native would have scruples about assaulting their former leader? "I'm not here to talk about me."

"Pity," Ozai drawled, settling more comfortably in his utterly comfortless cell. "Go away, then. I want to see what stupid plan my bastard son here has concocted."

Zuko growled at that, noticeably tensing, but the girl raised a hand, signaling him to calm down, and to Ozai's vague surprise, he obeyed, hunching his shoulders sullenly but not responding to his father's taunt. She stepped closer then, crouching down and staring at the prisoner levelly through the bars.

"You're a man who's always been obsessed with control," she began, her voice as calm and flat as her gaze. "You want it, crave it, but even more than that, you _need_ it. You can't stand to have someone else holding the reins, so being in here must be a living hell. And that is what makes me your worst nightmare."

"Oh, please," Ozai groaned, rolling his eyes theatrically. "My worst nightmare? Surely you can dredge up a better line than that cliché. What're you going to do now, break out the thumbscrews?"

He couldn't see her mouth with the cloth mask in the way, but he had a feeling she smiled thinly at his remarks.

"I have only just begun," she reminded him. "And I believe we were talking about you and your need to be in control. That's why you usurped General Iroh for the throne—it was bad enough that Azulon was the Fire Lord while you grew up, wasn't it? And then the old man just kept living; it must have made you furious, especially after he refused to hand the throne over to you following Lu Ten's death."

Ozai studied her with some wariness, wondering where she had acquired all this information. But then he supposed that Zuko must have briefed her before this session; at least his son had some sense.

"You manipulated your father for the throne, and you manipulated your daughter into a vicious pawn, making her promises you never intended to keep. You thrived on controlling every aspect of everyone's life—why else would you have been so intent to rule the entire world? You wanted to be the king of it all, to have everyone everywhere bow at your feet, because having one nation at your disposal just wasn't good enough, was it? You wanted more—more power, more control, more everything. And now it's all gone, isn't it?"

"Psychological trickery won't work on me," the former ruler drawled. "I appreciate the effort, but really, Zuko, take your pitiful torturer and leave me in peace."

The girl leaned closer, her face nearly pressed against the bars. "I'm not finished yet, Ozai. You must cherish the control you have left, right? You can hold information over your son's head, aware that he'd never stoop to your level to throttle it out of you. And you can move about this cell at whim, perhaps pacing around a bit, or sitting or standing as you see fit. This is the last semblance of power you retain: your body and mind. I am here, Ozai, to take that away from you, too, and leave you with absolutely nothing at all."

Zuko stared at the back of Katara's head, somewhat creeped out. He had been aware several times in the past that she was not a good person to have as an enemy: she had surprised him with her sudden skill in the North Pole, and she had certainly terrified him for one brief instant when she'd first showcased her bloodbending, and her recent thoughtless waterbending made her unpredictable—it was hard to counter an attack when your opponent didn't even _move_. And right now, he was very glad that they were allies; her tone and her words were unnerving him, and he was just a bystander.

She had to have rehearsed this beforehand, though; there was no way she could come up with this on the fly…

Katara straightened slowly until she was standing erect, her arms hanging limply at her sides. "It might interest you to know, Ozai," she continued, still deathly calm, "that I am a waterbender. Perhaps you should have expended more energy studying and understanding your enemies instead of simply plowing them into the ground, but I guess that's a lesson learned too late. You see, while most waterbenders require a source, such as a puddle or a lake or river or even the rain, talented ones can take advantage of lesser sources, such as the very air itself."

She raised one hand, and Ozai watched, faintly impressed, as water appeared as if out of nowhere, sheathing her hand in a liquid glove. And then she dispelled it and continued. "However, there is a technique reserved for the most powerful waterbenders, a closely guarded secret that hardly any can perform. I happen to have that privilege, since I am also a bloodbender. I could explain at great length what exactly that entails, but I'd rather not waste the breath when I could so easily show you."

Ozai peered up at her, somewhat perplexed by this new terminology, and he saw her fingers flicker—it could hardly be called a gesture, let alone a bending stance—an instant before he felt his arm move. It extended, the shoulder and elbow and wrist locking, and as he watched with the beginnings of panic stirring in the pit of his stomach, his fingers danced. They wiggled, one after another, thumb to little finger and back again, all on their own accord. He mentally tried to repress the movement, but he might as well have tried to fly.

"The hell?" he grunted, grabbing his arm with his other hand and attempting to lower it forcibly. But then, suddenly, his left betrayed him as well as his right, and both his arms stretched forwards.

"I trust you understand now," Katara remarked, flicking her wrist ever so slightly.

Ozai's legs shifted and bent beneath him, feet exerting pressure on the floor, and his spine wavered and straightened; suddenly, without wanting to at all, he was standing, arms still extended. The panic began to solidify, but he held it down. It had to be some trick; perhaps she had some bizarre ability to cause hallucinations, or perhaps this was that strange hypnosis he'd heard rumors about. This couldn't actually be some type of waterbending…could it?

She answered his unspoken question. "Everything liquid in your body is under my control. All your blood, all your organs, even your muscles and bones…even your saliva," she added, and Ozai felt drool slide from the corner of his mouth, felt the foam on his tongue, which he abruptly couldn't move. "This must be awful for you—you who prizes control above all else. Even in this cell, at least you could move your body at will…at least, until now."

Ozai felt the control return to his tongue, and he sneered at her and spat contemptuously, "So what're you going to do, waterbender? Make me bow at your feet? Suffering some small humiliation won't make me tell you anything."

Her eyes narrowed, but he could hardly classify the expression as angry; it appeared more like she was scrutinizing him, as if he were some mildly interesting specimen. "Perhaps I haven't made myself clear, Ozai. _I_ _control your body_," she emphasized, and made him walk, somewhat jerkily, closer to the bars. "This doesn't just mean I can move your limbs; this also means I can _break_ them."

There was an audible snap, and Ozai gasped but did not flinch—he was unable to. Zuko looked wildly at Katara and blurted, "What did you just do?"

She didn't glance at the Fire Lord. "It was just his finger, Zuko." Her attention refocused on the prisoner. "You have ten of those, you know. And ten toes. And then I can progress to your ribs, snap them one by one like twigs: you've got thirteen ribs. From there maybe your arms, then your legs—don't worry, I won't break your spine. I wouldn't want to paralyze you and not allow you to enjoy all the pain."

"Um, Katara…" Zuko began, but she silenced him with a glare. He merely swallowed, frightened once again by her sheer intensity. If he didn't know any better, he would say she was being serious, that not one of those threats was empty.

_Not everyone can puppet-bend, Zuko…_

_I would have ripped him limb from limb until there weren't even _shreds_ left…_

_I would've become a murderer right then and there, morals and conscience and consequence be damned…_

Zuko felt his spine prickle. This was Katara—they had to empty threats, they _had_ to be. She would never…except that she almost had, before, when she had encountered her mother's killer…

"And then, once I've finished up with the bones, I can move on to the muscles, ripping them free of the tendons. You have lots of muscles, and having them squirm around freely under your skin isn't the best sensation, I can promise you that. From there we can turn to organs, rupture them one by one until you're on the brink of death…and you know what we can do then?"

Ozai simply stared at her, more scared than he would ever care to admit. This strange girl couldn't be serious—Zuko could never have found someone this good. But then again, Zuko sounded surprised by her promised cruelty…perhaps she was acting on her own? And if she could control him, then there was nothing stopping her from preventing Zuko's honorable intervention as well…

Katara eased even closer to the bars, her eyebrows slanting together: now the malice was obvious, glinting in the ice of her eyes. "I also am a very skilled healer, Ozai. This means once you're almost dead, I can heal you to perfect health and begin the process anew. I can almost kill you over and over and over again, and how long do you think you can hold out against that, hm? Do you think you can suffer death a dozen times?"

Ozai stared back at her; he had no choice, since his eyeballs were locked in their sockets.

"Well, what d'ya think, you bastard?" she yelled, and suddenly he was on his knees; the fall jarred him all the way up to his teeth. "Maybe I'll skip the slow torture and just rush to the finale!"

The former Fire Lord felt terror congealing his blood as his heart jerked to a halt mid-beat.

"You were the one," she hissed through gritted teeth in a slow and steady crescendo, "who assumed the throne eleven years ago. You were the one who ordered the slaughter, not capture, of all waterbenders. You were the one who ordered the continued raids on the South Pole. You were the one who gave the command to the captain of the Southern Raiders. And you were the one who _fucking took my mother away from me!_"

His heart constricted in his chest, the muscle collapsing in on itself. He couldn't even scream from the agony; she had frozen his vocal cords and stopped his lungs.

"Katara—" Zuko began in a warning tone: this wasn't good, he thought fervently. She had transferred the blame and looked to be on the brink of losing it…and this time she _could _bloodbend and rip him limb from limb…

She overrode him easily with sheer volume.

"How does it feel to have your heart breaking? It's not pleasant, is it? My heart's broken a little more every day for _eleven years_, all because you had to rule the world!" she roared, the tears audible in her voice. "You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you, you fucking bastard? You had to destroy everyone's lives, even your son's! So you better tell me quick where the hell Ursa is, or I swear you won't last another five minutes, and they'll be the worst five minutes you've ever suffered!"

The pressure eased on his heart, and suddenly he could breathe and speak again. His tongue stumbled over the words, but he finally managed, "I don't _know_ where she is! She left on her own volition, all those years ago, and she never told me! I don't know, I swear to Agni _I don't know!_"

"You must have something of hers," Katara continued, still furious. "You must've kept something—she was your wife, for the spirits' sake! You couldn't have hated her so completely—"

"I didn't hate her!" Ozai interrupted, still panicky. "Agni, I never hated her! I loved her, but she loved _him_ more!"

Zuko blinked, shocked at that admission. "What?" he asked, scarcely audible.

"Yes, you, you worthless brat!" Ozai snapped. "You were perfect little Zuko, kind and sweet and gentle, everything she ever wanted me to be! I've resented you since the day you were born because you stole her from me, took her away and did not give her back! She _left me_ because she had to protect _you_, her precious little Zuko! She was the only person who ever cared about me, and _you_ turned her against me! You! Agni, I've always hated you for that!"

Zuko could only stare at his father, completely unable to form any sort of retort.

Katara glanced between them, clearly off-balance as well from Ozai's unexpected confession. But then she slid back into her appointed role, forcing the former Fire Lord's gaze back to her own. "Then you must have something, hidden away somewhere! Tell me what and where!"

Ozai wanted to swallow, needed to swallow, but he couldn't. He paid for his pause, the pressure returning vice-like on his heart. "No, wait!" he managed, and the vice eased. "There's…a locket. With a piece of her hair. I kept it in one of the hidden tunnels. But that's it, I swear!"

Katara studied him for a moment, and then she made a dismissive motion; he fell onto his back, sprawled inelegantly. After a second, he realized he could move his own limbs again, and he curled into a grateful little ball, tears of relief searing his eyes.

Zuko watched her warily, and he hesitantly laid a hand on her shoulder. He inwardly marveled at her control; she, again, had stopped herself, had pulled herself back from the edge. If he had been in her place, if he had possessed such unimaginable power over his mother's killer, he did not believe he would have been able to stop. She had feared bloodbending would turn her into some unspeakable demon, but she had proven that she could overcome even its vindictive lure.

From the look on her face, though, she clearly didn't think so.

She shuddered at the contact but made no attempt to remove it, so he flexed his fingers gently. "C'mon," he murmured, trying to look her in the eyes, which she would not allow. "We got what we came for. Let's go."

She was trembling beneath his touch, and her eyes shut tightly, tears leaking free to spill down her cheeks. "I can't—I can't believe—" she breathed, even her voice shaky.

"Shh," he soothed, wrapping an arm about her shoulders and guiding her from the corridor, from the entire prison tower. He stopped several dozen feet from the entrance, folding her into a full embrace; she buried her face in his chest, her words muffled but still coherent.

"Oh, spirits, what have I done?" she sobbed, her fingers fisting in his cloak, and he simply stroked her hair and held her tighter. "I can't believe what I just…what have I _become_? I'm a monster, a monster…"

"You're not a—" Zuko began, ready to voice his recent thoughts, but she cut him off vehemently.

"No, I am! You know what I did! You saw me do it! What kind of person does something like that? Twi and La, Aang was right…I do have this darkness inside me, and…and it scares me, too…I hate that he was right…"

"I was, wasn't I?"

Zuko turned his head slowly and felt Katara raise hers from his chest; together, their gazes fell on the furious Avatar.


	8. huit

* * *

_**Beyond the Rising Sun**_

_**viii.**_

The three benders simply stared at each other for a long moment: Zuko perplexed, Aang furious, Katara wary. Pale light flooded down from the full moon, giving them long shadows even in the darkness, and an uncertain amount of time passed before Aang continued.

"I was right, wasn't I?" he demanded again, gripping his staff like a weapon, the tip pointed accusingly in his girlfriend's direction. "You did bloodbend!"

Zuko shifted his body and opened his mouth, ready to defend her, but Katara hardly needed defending. The rage she had experienced while interrogating Ozai had not fallen back asleep; it had only retreated to lurk beneath the surface, and it hardly took any provocation to boil over once more.

"So what if I did?" she spat back, stepping around Zuko and knocking Aang's glider aside. "I already told you that what I do is none of your business!"

"If you're doing evil things, it's completely my business!" the airbender retorted, brandishing his staff again. "I'm the Avatar, and I can't allow it."

She rolled her eyes. "Hell no you're not. You're _Aang_ with your messed-up, too-idealistic moral code, and you can't stand it if someone's not as perfect as you wanted them to be! Well, I'm sorry I'm flawed, but I never took any Air Nomad vows so your rules don't apply to me!"

"Don't apply?" Aang echoed, angry and incredulous. "Are you hearing yourself, Katara?" He gestured wildly to the prison. "What were you doing here tonight that's acceptable in any culture? Torturing Ozai? That's what you were doing, wasn't it? And you—how could you allow her to do this?"

Zuko blinked, somewhat surprised that he was being included, but he never got a chance to reply.

"Leave him out of this," Katara snarled, blocking Aang's path to the firebender.

"Why should I?" Aang said in return. "If he's the one who brought you here—if he's the one who asked you to do this in the first place—then he's just as guilty as you!" He glared at Zuko over her shoulder. "How could you _ask_ that of her? I thought you were her _friend!_"

"I _am—_"

"He is my friend," Katara finished for Zuko, stepping once more in the Avatar's way. "I already told you to leave him out of this. This is between you and me."

Aang curled his lip, pinning the Fire Lord with his infuriated gaze before he swept his blazing gray eyes back towards the waterbending master. "Fine, I'll leave him out of this. But that hardly excuses _you!_ I can't believe you would stoop to torturing someone! Wasn't trying to get revenge bad enough?"

"I'm not like you, okay?" she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "I don't subscribe to some code of ethics that's hardly even human. You don't believe in revenge, and maybe that has a point, since all it does is make you _sick_, but you're ridiculous—you don't even eat meat!"

The last airbender took a step back, bewildered at the randomness of that remark. "Whoa, why are we suddenly discussing my dietary habits?"

"Because they're stupid, that's why! Can you imagine trying not to eat meat in the South Pole? What's left? Snow? You can't apply your rules to everyone because not everyone's like you!" She turned her head away sharply, and for a moment both boys thought her anger had simmered down, but then she lashed out again. "Hell, Aang, every other Avatar in the history of the world would've killed Ozai! They wouldn't have risked the fate of the _entire world_ because their conscience twinged a little, and they definitely wouldn't have tiptoed around the subject like—like—"

"Like what?" Aang growled, his fists twisting on the shaft of his glider.

"Like some scared little kid!" she blurted.

He laughed hollowly, one harsh bark. "You should be glad I didn't kill him, since it allowed your little surreptitious rendezvous tonight. Spirits, I can't believe I was so right about you—I hate that I was right about you!"

She slanted him a glare. "What, Aang? Can't believe I'm so human that I can feel rage? Oh, wait: you're not so perfect yourself! I remember several instances of uncontrolled Avatar States that could've potentially killed _me_, amongst others. The Southern Air Temple? The desert with the sandbenders? You aren't so innocent, Mr. High-and-Mighty-Pacifist!"

"I can control that now!" he protested, waving one arm demonstratively. "I don't lose myself every time I get angry; you should be able to control yourself, too. It's called _self-restraint_, Katara!"

"I have self-restraint," she shot back, the words harsh through gritted teeth. "The full moon's still out, and I haven't bloodbent your ass back to Appa yet, have I? I think that's pretty commendable!"

Aang scoffed. "Come off it, Katara—you wouldn't bloodbend me. You haven't fallen so far."

Her angry expression held for a moment longer before she slumped slightly. "No, I don't suppose I have. Let that be a comfort to you, Aang."

He studied her critically as long seconds of silence ticked by, and then he nodded bluntly. "Good. Now c'mon, let's go."

He grabbed her sleeve, but she jerked her arm away.

"No," she said, softly but very clearly. "I'm not going with you."

"What? Why?" Aang demanded, glancing back at the largely forgotten Fire Lord, who was watching the row with the air of someone very glad to be exempt from participating. "What else does he want you to do? Interrogate the whole damn prison?"

Zuko blinked, surprised to be dragged back into the fight, but once again Katara was quicker on the uptake.

"Stop jumping to your spirit-damn self-righteous conclusions!" she snapped, cobalt eyes piercing in the moonlight. "Zuko didn't want me to hurt anyone—he just wants to find his mother! Can you condemn him for that, Aang? Can you call that wrong?"

"If it involves hurting people along the way, then yes!" the Avatar threw back. "The ends don't justify the means!"

Katara grabbed her head, as if his obstinacy were causing her physical pain. "Dammit, Aang, I can't stand your stupid preaching anymore! Just shut up and go the hell away!"

"I'm not leaving without you," he said severely, reaching for her again.

She caught his wrist, preventing him from taking hold. "What part of _I'm not going with you_ didn't you seem to understand?"

"All of it, actually," he retorted, twisting his arm around so that he grabbed her wrist as well. "I'm not letting you stay here where you'll just continue your dark ways. You are coming with me!" He emphasized his words with a sharp tug on her arm.

She stumbled forward, not anticipating that, and looked up at him with surprise for an instant before the surprise morphed into familiar anger. "_Like_ _hell I am!_" she growled, wrenching at her arm, and when his grip did not loosen, she snapped a waterwhip at his head as if out of nowhere.

Aang was forced to release her in order to bring his staff around, sending a slice of air through the whip and breaking it in half. He stared at her in disbelief. "You're not seriously going to fight me, literally _fight_ me, on this!"

"I'll do whatever it takes," she vowed, dragging her hand through empty air and forging another whip. "Do you really think you can beat me, Aang? A master waterbender during a full moon?"

Aang looked torn for a moment, and then he raised his hands placatingly. "Alright, alright, how about we just talk about this? There's a lot of discrepancies between our points of view, but maybe we can reach a satisfactory compromise—"

"What kind of compromise?" she asked, eyeing him guardedly with her waterwhip still poised.

"If you come—"

"I'm not going anywhere with you, for the thousandth time!" she exclaimed. "I'm not done here, and you can't just drag me off whenever you so choose! You're not my keeper!"

Aang narrowed his eyes. "Maybe not exactly, but I _am_ your boyfriend, so maybe you should—"

"No—no, you're not!"

The Avatar froze, stunned by this unexpected twist. He glanced at Zuko, who looked just as shocked at her sudden declaration. And then his eyes returned to her, somehow broken-looking. "What? Are you…are you breaking up with me?"

The anger drained from her expression, and she just looked old. "Hardly, Aang," she replied, but before he could experience any relief, she continued with, "there's nothing to break up."

He shifted his weight, on uneven footing in more ways than one. "I, er, don't understand," he admitted.

Zuko had to admit to the same; he had gleaned from her letters that their relationship had changed, but he had never imagined that it had regressed so far she felt the need to end it. And he experienced a surge of shame and guilt for feeling fleetingly happy with this new development.

She laughed softly, emptily. "You can't see it, Aang? We had a better relationship when you were twelve, for the spirits' sake, and that's saying something. It's mutual—can't you tell? We both outgrew whatever crushes, and we're just staying together because it's all we really know. And that's hardly a good enough reason."

Aang digested this, staring at her blankly, and then his brow furrowed more deeply. "So…you _are_ breaking up with me?"

Zuko had a feeling he hadn't meant to phrase it as a question.

She shrugged. "I guess so. If it can even be called that by now."

Aang's eyes flashed to the Fire Lord and then back to the waterbender. "Wh…what…Does this have something to do with him?" he finally managed to voice, jerking a finger at Zuko.

Katara followed his gesture and then groaned. "Argh…_no_." She paused and then, "No offense, Zuko."

He shook his head, even though some part of him was terribly disheartened. "None taken," he replied smoothly. Still, he thought, it would've been nice to at least be a contributing factor.

Aang's jaw locked tightly; she could see the tension, and she winced. Their relationship had been slowly dying, yes, but she had never intended to blow it up in his face quite like this. She had always imagined that when the time came, should it ever become absolutely necessary, she would break the news to him with perfect gentleness and a good helping of remorse. She had never imagined they would get in the ugliest fight ever and that would be it.

Some part of her was sad; she would not deny that. But it wasn't the majority.

"I'm sorry, Aang," she offered quietly.

He shook his head slowly and raised it just as slowly, gray eyes hesitantly meeting blue. "No," he replied, "you're not. But I am." He looked away from her, pinning Zuko with his gaze instead. "If anything happens to her, even if it's a product of her own stubbornness, I'm holding you responsible. And you don't want to be responsible for that."

"She'll be safe, I swear," Zuko promised, bowing slightly to the Avatar.

Aang nodded once sharply in acknowledgment of that, and returned weary eyes to Katara. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly uncertain how to proceed from here. "So…I guess this is goodbye."

She wrapped her arms around her middle and stared steadfastly at a point above his right shoulder. "For now," she confirmed tonelessly.

His mouth opened and closed several times, and finally he whispered, "I really did love you, you know."

She bobbed her head weakly, eyes sliding shut. "I know," she breathed.

Aang inhaled deeply, holding the air in his lungs for a long moment before he let it out in a slow, somber sigh. And then he stepped close to her, fingers tracing the curve of her cheek before his lips pressed lightly into her forehead; they lingered longer than they should have, but he pulled away slowly soon enough, only to have her hand cover his, keeping him close.

He looked down at her in some confusion when she raised veiled blue eyes.

"I know this is a complete cliché, but…" She drew a fortifying breath and forged on. "But we _have_ to stay friends, Aang. I can't lose you completely." She let out an exhale that might've been a cynical laugh. "I don't know what I'd do without you in my life."

He brushed a tear away with his thumb and forced a dim version of his usual brighter-than-the-sun smile. "Of course, Tara. Me neither."

She returned the smile faintly, hers considerably more watery than his. "Yeah. See…see you later, Aang."

He nodded, looking marginally comforted by that phrasing, and with an acknowledging glance in Zuko's direction, he unleashed his glider and took to the air. Flames burst from the soles of his feet, and soon he had flown out of sight, vanished into the darkness of the crater and the night.

Zuko carefully approached her, uncertain of her successive reactions but knowing it would be one of two: she would either completely collapse in his arms, or she'd shrug off his help and wait until she was alone to break down. He tentatively set his hands on her shoulders, and when she pulled away brusquely, he knew it was the latter.

He tried not to feel too disappointed.

"I trust you have spare rooms in that palace of yours and I won't have to find a nice patch of grass somewhere," she said, attempting to sound lighthearted, but her voice was too raw to support that charade.

He ignored the way his arms ached for something to hold. He also ignored the part of his mind that wanted to offer his own room as her quarters: that would not do…in any situation. So he nodded instead, and when he noticed she wasn't looking at him, said aloud, "Yes, I do. Come on."

He began walking back towards the city proper and the palace at its center, but he had hardly gone a pace when her hand caught onto his. He stared down at their laced fingers, surprised, and then tried to see her face. She had her head turned aside, though, her hair a wavy curtain blocking his view.

So he simply tightened the grip and led her home.

* * *

Katara sat hunched forward with her elbows on her thighs and stared blankly at her hands as she had for countless minutes. It was dark in her new quarters: no candles or lanterns were lit, and only the mocking moonlight streamed through her balcony doors, splashing long rectangles of white on the floor. It fell upon her palms as well, bleaching the skin a ghostly white, even though she half-expected scarlet stains to appear from nowhere at any moment.

They never did, and her hands remained clean.

She wasn't surprised that they were spotless; after all, she had spent an hour in the bathtub, scrubbing the palms and backs and fingers and knuckles until they were pink and raw. The only faintly enjoyable part of the whole session was the steaming water—if the Fire Nation ever wanted to jumpstart their economy, all they had to do was market their revolutionary heated, indoor plumbing. But even the water had cooled with time, and she had no power to return its heat.

And now she simply sat on the edge of her borrowed bed and watched her fingertips rubbing together. She might not be able to see any blood, any mark of her transgressions, but she could feel it. Slippery, sticky, as if the viscous fluid were coating her hands right now.

Her jaw clenched further, her temples already pounding from the pressure, and her teeth bit deeper into her lower lip. She didn't know if this happened to all benders, or just masters, or just master waterbenders, or maybe just her…but she could feel her element as she bent it. The water never actually touched her skin while she bent, but she could feel it gracing her all the same, curiously soft—as liquids are—and infinitely cool. Normally it was a soothing sensation, evoking distant memories of her hair being stroked by her mother or of chill arctic breezes kissing her cheeks, but tonight…

She shuddered involuntarily, not from any cold, even though she was only dressed in her wraps: being constantly visually reminded of her bloodless skin was her one reassurance. But she did believe that the moonlight paling her usual tan flesh snow-white lent an illusion of purity too far from the truth.

It didn't matter what Zuko had said. She was a monster, a hideous monster.

Why else would she have been able to _feel_ Ozai's heart in her hands as she bent it in a vice?

Why else would she still be haunted by the lingering sensations of soft tissue and coursing blood?

She shuddered again, more violently this time, and flipped her hands over, locking her elbows stiff and gripping her thighs near her knees until her relentless fingers left reddish marks. She wanted to feel anything, anything but his heart as she slowly crushed it…

Blood dribbled down her chin—her teeth had finally broken the flesh of her lip. She registered the salty taste as she absentmindedly ran her tongue over the cut, and then she raised a hand and brushed the drops away with her fingertips.

When she drew them back, they gleamed red in the moonlight.

Her stomach lurched at the sight, and she collapsed sideways on the bed, curling up into a tight ball with her bloodied fingers held unforgivingly within her line of vision. Dry, heaving sobs wracked her slender frame, and the terrible crimson finally disappeared as tears washed her clarity away.

But the _feel_ remained, warm and wet, and she only curled tighter, longing for the feel of cool water and fearing it would never be enough to rinse away the blood.

* * *

Zuko half-walked, half-jogged through the many tortuous tunnels that navigated the walls of the palace; he had checked those immediately around the royal chambers first, even though he had surveyed them upon inheriting the suite, and then he had branched out to search the rest of the colossal structure. So far he had encountered nothing—nothing at all. He didn't know what else he would expect to find: secret chambers for illicit purposes, perhaps, or hoards of treasure.

But there was nothing. Just mile after mile of twisting, claustrophobia-inducing corridors with fire-activated doors every so often that connected the labyrinth to the palace proper. Ozai had said, though, under pain of torture and impending death, that he had kept a locket in one of the tunnels…

If only Zuko had bothered determining _which_ tunnel.

Heaving an irritated sigh, Zuko shoved a hand through his shaggy hair, combing it back from his forehead, as if removing the locks from his vision would actually improve his decision-making. He had reached yet another divergence in the tunnels, given the option of choosing right or left. It was too poetic to veer right, and so he plunged left instead, his boots scraping softly on the dusty stone tiles.

Trudging on with one hand held aloft, tongues of fire licking at his half-curled fingers, Zuko continued doggedly on; he had come this far, hoped this long—he could go on a little farther, keep hoping a little longer. He had to. He owed it to Katara: she had agreed to bloodbending, and the least he could do was take advantage of the fruits of her labor.

He sighed softly. He would not deny that he was worried for her; she had walked like someone half alive the entire way back to the palace, and she had reminded him eerily of Azula—present in the world but at the same time not wholly there. She hadn't so much as said another word to him, even when he had bade her goodnight at the door of her guest suite; it was in an adjacent hall from the royal suites, and it occurred to him that it was strange to have her so close yet feel so terribly distant.

She had been right: bloodbending was horrific. But it had served its purpose.

His mind drifted back to the subject it had been dwelling on almost constantly: Ozai's confession. He could not believe that the man had admitted to hating Zuko, to blaming Zuko for stealing all of Ursa's affection. It was all so ludicrous: Zuko now wanted to shake the former Fire Lord and yell, _If you hadn't been such a sick and despotic bastard, she might've still loved you! You drove her away all by yourself!_

But the time for that had passed, and he was only left with his thoughts. When he had contemplated his parents' marriage at Sokka and Suki's wedding, he had never assumed for an instant that his father had ever loved his mother; Ozai seemed too incapable of genuine emotion. This new information, though, seemed to suggest that, once upon a time, his parents had indeed loved each other, however short-lived and futile it had ultimately been.

Zuko shoved his musings aside roughly. He did not like indulging in the possibility that the bastard he had once called father might have possessed one redeeming quality.

Something metallic rattled quietly in the dark, and Zuko glanced down sharply, startled by the sound.

He had kicked a locket, causing the twisted chain to knock against itself.

Zuko bent down and lifted the dust-coated object. It settled comfortably in his palm, rather large in size, and he hastily brushed the dust off, revealing the character for love etched into the locket's cover.

Something clenched inside his chest, and he overrode the sensation by prying the locket open. Two tiny portraits stared back at him, younger versions of Ursa and Ozai, and the latter was mostly obscured by a single curled lock of raven-black hair.

Zuko didn't realize he was crying until a wet spot appeared on his mother's portrait, and he numbly lifted the small bundle of hair; it was still smooth, perhaps owing to the airtight quality of the locket, or perhaps hair didn't disintegrate easily. It felt, he thought, rather like Azula's when she requested he braid it.

Tentatively, he sniffed it, but he could detect no scent beyond the lingering quality of hair and the coppery flavor of the metal locket. His mother had always worn a sweet, spicy perfume, but it had probably faded with time—at least beyond his capacity to detect. Jun's shirsu might have more luck.

He reverently replaced his mother's hair and closed the locket; he held it indecisively for a long moment before he dashed from the tunnels.

It was never wise to wake Katara, but he never could seem to wait.

* * *

The prison's corridors were dark; there were no torches, as she remembered, but instead windows lined the walls, tall and thin and barred. They allowed slits of pure white moonlight in, and she walked down hallways and staircases, journeying deeper and deeper until she reached a familiar door. She tried the handle and found it unlocked, but then she stopped, alerted by some sixth sense.

Turning around, Katara saw Zuko and Aang emerge from the shadows, both in the clothes they'd been wearing that night. They simply looked at her, Aang disappointed, Zuko wary and peripherally unnerved, even frightened.

"What?" she hissed, her voice loud and echoing in the silent prison.

They stared back, their expressions unchanging.

"I have to do this!" she insisted, whirling around and heaving open the unlocked door. This corridor also possessed windows in place of torches, even though she knew she was far underground by this point; the moonlight still managed to seep in. At the end of the hallway was a cell, fronted with thick iron bars. Its interior was drenched in shadow, but she approached regardless, confident of the occupant's identity.

She raised a vengeful hand, fingers flickering in a gesture, and once again she felt her victim's heart cradled in her palm and slowly compacting as she made it implode. But now she did not cease; she followed the action through to completion until it burst messily in her hand like an overripe fruit.

And then her victim fell forward into the light, revealing its visage, still pain-wracked, even in death.

Katara staggered, all the air leaving her lungs in a rush as iron bands constricted her chest.

Her mother stared blankly up at her, ice blue eyes glassy, mouth open in a silent scream of agony.

Katara looked at her hand and saw that it was covered in awful vermillion, so much so that it ran between her fingers, dripping into a growing puddle on the floor. She fell harshly to her knees and grabbed her head, smearing her mother's blood all over her cheek, eyes wide and staring in fervent denial.

"No…no…it can't…I couldn't have…I _wouldn't _have…no…" she mumbled incoherently, unable to tear her eyes away from the damning sight.

"Look what you've done," Aang said softly behind her. "See what your darkness has brought you."

"You're a monster," Zuko intoned.

"No, no, I didn't _do_ this!" Katara yelled, pleaded, even as her hands dripped red. She glanced between them beseechingly, and then turned back to her mother.

Kya's dead eyes rolled in their sockets, and her mouth moved slowly, disjointedly, as if she were not entirely in sync. "Why did you kill me, Katara?"

Katara stumbled away, tripping over her own feet, and landed hard on her back; Kya lurched upright, her movements uncoordinated, and the elder staggered against the bars of the cell, arms outstretched as she reached for her daughter.

"Why, sweetie? Why?" her mother asked, echoing the question over and over and over.

Katara tried to scramble madly away, but her limbs suddenly refused to obey, and she remained locked in place on the cold stone floor. And then Hama emerged from the cell's shadows as well, positioned in a very familiar stance.

"I told you that you were a bloodbender," she crowed delightedly. "It is your heritage, your birthright!"

"No, no, it's not—"

"Look what it can do!" Hama exclaimed, directing Kya's motions like an inept puppeteer. "It can bring your mother back to life!"

"Why did you kill me, sweetie?"

A scream ripped from her throat, deafening her to her mother's inquiries, Hama's gloating, but something leaked through the overpowering white sound.

"Katara! Wake up! Agni, wake up!"

Hands, on her wrists. Tight. Not enough.

She thrashed wildly in the cell block, continuing to scream as the tears coursed down her cheeks, fighting the grip of her unseen assailant. It was the bloodbending, _it was the bloodbending_…

"Katara, _wake up!_ You're having a nightmare! Dammit, wake up!"

And then the invisible fingers on her wrists grew warm, despite the frigid air of the prison, and the sensation snapped her back to reality. Her body remained tense and twisted beneath Zuko's, which pinned her to the mattress.

The heat dissipated from his hands, and he bowed his head briefly as he heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank Agni! I was afraid you'd never wake up."

She looked up at him blankly, fearfully—he was difficult to recognize through her veil of tears, and the darkness of her room didn't help. But she knew the voice, and she blinked rapidly, attempting to clear her vision.

"Zu—Zuke—wha—what're you—" she gasped the question, breathing heavily, as if she had been running for her life and not trapped in her own subconscious.

"I was nearby; I heard you yelling," he swiftly informed her, and he disengaged one of his hands from her arm and brushed her hair off her forehead, which was sticky with cold sweat.

She glanced around, vaguely registering the sensation of his fingers on her skin, still utterly disorientated. "But—but I—"

"You had a nightmare," he repeated, trying to hold her gaze, but her eyes were rolling too much in her sockets as she sought an anchor. "Are…are you okay?"

She stared at him uncomprehendingly for a long moment before she wordlessly shook her head.

He rolled off her and sat up, gathering her in his arms, and as tightly as he held her, it was not as fiercely as she clung to him. Her fingers dug into his body, desperately seeking purchase, as if he were a cliff she was barely hanging onto.

"Shh…" he soothed, pressing his cheek against the crown of her head and stroking her hair with one hand, the other secure around her waist. "'S just a dream."

"Oh, spirits, Zuko…I _killed _her…the bloodbending…oh, spirits…" she sobbed, tears soaking into his shirt as her hands fisted anew in the fabric.

He inhaled sharply and then collapsed marginally, apologizing into her hair. "I'm so sorry, Katara…I never should've asked you…"

"It's not your fault," she said, more clearly, and he had a feeling she would've been slanting him quite a glare had her head been raised. "Don't…don't you dare take this upon yourself…"

"I can hardly let you bear it alone," he replied softly, trying to pull her closer, even though she was already cradled in his lap, burrowed into his chest. He wanted to envelope her completely and draw all her pain into his body, where it couldn't hurt her anymore.

She trembled against him, gasping for breath between the sobs shaking her whole curled frame. "I can't…I can't stop seeing her face…spirits, every time I close my eyes, even to blink, I see…" She trailed off wetly, her voice choked off by the thickness in her throat.

"You need sleep," he reminded her, distantly enjoying the silky texture of her hair against his scar, even as his fingers threaded through the strands. He would gladly carry a lock of her hair around with him…

"I can't sleep," she protested, sniffing. "Didn't you hear a word I just said? I keep seeing—"

"Then I'll stay," he offered abruptly.

She quieted, but not out of acceptance; she pulled back slowly and peered up at him with bloodshot eyes. "What? You'll…stay?"

He huffed in good-natured annoyance. "I don't mean anything by it, geez. I was simply suggesting that if I stay here, I'll be able to wake you up, should you show any signs of having another nightmare—you know, shrieking like a banshee, thrashing around like a madwoman…"

"I get the picture," she grumbled, smiling faintly despite her distress. She still hesitated, though, clearly lucid enough now to contemplate the implications.

Zuko wanted to remind her that Aang was no longer an issue, but he ultimately decided that would not improve her current mood, so he settled with, "Your father's not here to rip my head off, so no worries," instead.

"I…I…alright," she relented, and she slid off his lap, crawling under the bedclothes.

He watched her, suddenly fully aware of the circumstances—far more aware than when he had originally made the offer. He had only wanted to help her then, but now he couldn't help noticing that this would involve prolonged proximity with her, and _of course_ she wasn't wearing all that much…

"This was your idea, Zuko, so if you want to sleep at the foot of the bed like some raccoon-hound, by all means…" she quipped from the safety of the blankets.

At least she was in better spirits, he told himself sternly, ignoring the comment about him being a pet. Also ignoring the blush that flared on his fair cheeks, he slipped between the silken sheets as well, unsure what to do now. Her back was to him, and he could only vaguely see her silhouette in the darkness; the moon had long since fled behind gathering clouds.

"Katara—" he began, intent on asking some sort of permission, but she cut him off.

"Just…just…could you…" She seemed unable to finish the request, the rawness back in her voice.

He nodded, even though she couldn't see, and finished their incomplete conversation with a whispered, "Yeah." He wrapped an arm around her, tugging her back into his chest, and curved his body to match hers. Ducking his head, he breathed in the slight salty scent of her hair at the crook of her neck. She remained stiff for a long moment before she gradually relaxed in his embrace, the tension slowly melting from her taut frame. She gripped his hand tightly, and under other circumstances he might have worried about losing all circulation, but for now he was simply glad she was looking to him for support, for comfort.

He realized he'd never been able to offer it before. He had always needed her; she had never needed him.

He held her as she drifted to sleep, and while she began to stir in distress once more, he quieted her with calming whispers and soft caresses. When she was deep in dreamless slumber, he remained awake anyway, able to feel the locket pinned between the curve of her hip and the angle of his. And as he listened to her breathe and soaked in the warmth of her closeness, he wondered if this were what love felt like.

Zuko and Katara, he mused sleepily with the faintest of smiles. It somehow sounded…right.


	9. neuf

* * *

_**Beyond the Rising Sun**_

_**ix.**_

Much to Katara's dismay, the windows of her guestroom all faced east, causing dawn's rays to splash across her face and drag her from slumber. With a disgruntled groan, she scrunched her eyes tightly shut and went to raise her hand as a shield, but something lay across her arm, pinning the limb to her side. Vaguely befuddled, she cautiously eased her lids up and squinted through her thick lashes.

It was an arm.

More specifically, it was Zuko's arm.

She felt her cheeks warm as she realized his right hand was sprawled on her bare stomach, his fingers loosely curled. Trying not to read too much into it, she reasoned that he had to have rolled onto his back during the night and dragged her along with him, as she now lay in the cradle of his left arm, cushioned against his body. His shoulder formed a surprisingly comfortable pillow, and she craned her neck slowly to try to see him.

He slept on undisturbed, his head somewhat tilted away from her, his scar illuminated with the morning's soft glow. Since that fateful day in Ba Sing Se, she had not bothered to examine his scar to any degree; it was a part of his face, and that was that. But now that she lay so closely, it was difficult to ignore. The flesh was rumpled and ridged, as if someone had tried to shove more skin than could fit into the area, and was a raw reddish color, not tempered much with time.

It was worst around his eye: the entire socket had acquired darker scar tissue, and the lid had lost much of its definition, more or less melting into the arch of the socket. He had no eyelashes.

The same sympathy she had experienced in the catacombs returned in a rush, but this time the ache penetrated even deeper. She raised her left hand slowly—not about to move her right and potentially wake him by jostling his arm—and reached up and across, her fingertips just brushing the border of his scar. It was curiously smooth, but not in the way that skin was normally; it was too smooth, too unyielding to the gentle pressure of her touch.

She frowned faintly, tracing the outline all the way to his shriveled ear, mostly hidden by his shaggy hair. She had largely forgotten that she had ever offered to heal it—so much had happened directly afterwards, and most of what she recalled from their brief shared imprisonment was the fact that she had found herself trusting him, empathizing with him, only to have it all thrown in her face.

But now she wondered if it would work. She had obviously used the Spirit Oasis water on Aang's lightning injury, but there _was_ a whole pond of it in the sanctuary of the Northern Water Tribe…and she might never have investigated the healing arts to any great degree, but with her nearly unnerving innate skill, that might not matter all that much.

Her fingertip wandered across his cheekbone, and suddenly his fingers were locking around her wrist, eliciting a surprised gasp from her. Zuko had twisted his upper body, pushing himself up on his elbow so that he appeared to be looming over her impressively, although that was mostly due to the fact that she was still lying supine.

He blinked several times, only their breathing filling the silence, and he must have recognized the half-confused, half-afraid expression on her face, as he retracted his hand so swiftly she barely saw it move.

"Sorry," he said gruffly, swinging his legs off the bed and rising stiffly, his muscles dulled with sleep. "I didn't—I just don't—"

"It's okay," she assured him quickly, levering herself onto her own elbow and shoving wild curls from her face. "No harm done. I shouldn't have been poking around in the first place."

He raised a hand to his face, covering the scar, and did not look round at her. "I don't like people touching it," he finished quietly. "It makes it seem too…real."

Katara opened her mouth to apologize again, but somehow _I'm sorry_ seemed so hopelessly inadequate that she pressed her lips back together.

The silence had lengthened uneasily before Zuko spoke slowly, hesitantly, almost as if he were simply thinking out loud.

"My…mother, she…she never knew me with this," he murmured, hand still placed as a shield. "It happened years after she left, and…that was part of why I hated it so much," he admitted softly, nothing more than exhaled words. "I was afraid she…that she wouldn't recognize me when she came back."

"Zuko," Katara breathed, a sharp pain piercing her chest and crumpling her brow. She clambered to her feet, and while her extended hand stuttered on its journey, it finally reached his shoulder. She flexed her fingers gently, attempting to convey comfort and strength.

He raised his free hand and covered hers, holding it to his shoulder, his fingers tight on hers.

She studied his back, wishing she could see his face and gauge his expression, but part of her was scared, somehow, to see such pain there. So she settled for staying where she was, close but still distant. After an uncertain interval, she managed to swallow and say, "If…if we went to the North Pole, I could always…" She trailed off, momentarily losing confidence—what if she proposed the idea and then could not follow through?—but finally concluded, "I could always try to heal it. The offer still stands," she added, a bit more lightheartedly.

The muscles in his shoulder tensed at those words, and she wished belatedly that she had not said them, that she could snatch them from the air and force them back down her throat. Instead of staying silent, though, she rushed on, attempting to backtrack.

"Not that it's necessary or anything," she blurted. "Your mother will recognize you, no matter what—that I know. I just thought, maybe, I should say—"

"Katara," he said softly, and despite his lack of volume, he succeeded in stopping her mid-ramble.

She waited, motionless, as he turned around, his hand slipping from his face and revealing his scar. The beginnings of a smile flitted ghost-like at the corners of his mouth, almost an expression.

"Thank you," he said.

One of her eyebrows arched ever so slightly, unsure if he were accepting her offer or perhaps just grateful she had ceased blathering. "For…for what?" she asked, even more off-balance by the softness in his amber eyes.

He chuckled, as much like a laugh as a whisper is like a yell. "For being you," he explained simply with a shrug. "For just always being you."

She ran her free hand through her hair, or at least tried to—the tangles prevented the gesture's completion—and glanced aside, a little embarrassed. "Oh, well, I try," she quipped, seeking refuge in something flippant, something that would stop him from looking at her like that.

Another quiet laugh, and he slid her hand from his shoulder but did not release his grip; instead, he twined his fingers through hers, solidifying the hold. Katara studied their clasped hands from the corner of her eye, wondering why the gesture felt different, although not in an entirely bad way. The entire situation, though, was turning her face hot, and she was suddenly hyperaware that she wasn't exactly dressed—and suddenly very self-conscious of that fact, too, in a way she'd never been before.

"Well, um," she said, grinning rather wider than necessary, "I seem to have misplaced my robe yet again. I don't suppose you have any Water Tribe outfits around here, would you? I left all my stuff on…on Appa." A frown creased her forehead as last night's events washed back into her memory and sufficiently distracted her from her current attire and the uncomfortably wrought atmosphere.

Zuko's fingers relaxed against hers, and she contained a short sigh of relief—something had been biding its time for explosion, she had _felt _it, but now it eased away, mere background noise. "I wonder if Aang would've had the presence of mind to drop your stuff off," he said musingly, returned to his usual tone.

Her jaw clenched, but then the tension drained from her slender frame, as if she just couldn't quite sustain it anymore. "I don't know. I suppose he might've," she allowed, carefully easing her hand free and crossing her arms on her chest.

Zuko strode towards her bedroom door, saying over his shoulder, "I'll see to it. And then you and I have some matters to discuss."

She quirked a brow and called after him, "Matters? What matters?"

But he had already disappeared into the hallway, and she was left alone.

She wasn't entirely sure she liked it.

* * *

Zuko strode down the corridor, adjusting the fall of his clothing: they had become twisted during the night and felt rather out of sorts. He straightened them as best he could but acknowledged that he would have to scrounge up a new outfit for himself as well; normally he didn't sleep in his day-clothes, but with Ozai's interrogation and the discovery of the locket running directly into his comforting of Katara, he hadn't exactly had any time to change.

He slipped his hand into his tunic pocket, feeling the cool metal of the locket against his palm. Contained within was the one clue he had to find his mother, to try to patch together his family again. He didn't even dare imagine it, terrified that would snatch the chance away like some sort of cruel karma.

"Fire Lord Zuko."

The twenty-year-old glanced up at the sound of the voice; he hadn't realized he'd become so caught up in his musings that he'd actually stopped in the middle of the hall. And something twinged uncomfortably in his chest when he recognized the speaker.

"Avatar Aang," he intoned, offering the usual Fire Nation bow. "What brings you to my palace?"

The formal greeting felt stiff and strange on his tongue, but it already seemed that the younger man had bent some of the air from the room, making the atmosphere close and stifling. Besides, Zuko could see the pack Aang carried, and he knew that he was still in the guest's wing of the palace—the Avatar had obviously come to deliver Katara's supplies.

The tattooed youth hefted the bag and said, a bit curtly, "Katara. This is hers."

And he made to brush past the elder, but Zuko extended his arm, barricading the airbender's path.

Aang cast him a sidelong look, vaguely puzzled. It was clear from his expression, though, that he still held the Fire Lord mainly responsible for Katara's nocturnal activities and was not in any mood for a lengthy chat.

Zuko swallowed but said strongly, "I cannot allow you to go any further."

One of Aang's eyebrows rose, though he made no move to duck Zuko's arm. "And why is that?" he asked, the slightest edge to his tone hinting that it was more of a demand.

He paused for an indecisive moment, wondering how much of the truth would be revealed if he tried to explain—namely that he had spent the entire night with the Avatar's very recently ex-girlfriend, lack of disreputable activities notwithstanding.

"She doesn't want to see you," he finally said.

Aang visibly flinched at the phrase, and for a moment, Zuko regretted wording it like that.

"You don't know that," the Avatar protested, the coolness in his voice denied by the underlying hurt. "Now let me pass."

"No," the firebender repeated, and he stepped sideways, blocking the other's path now with his whole body. "She needs her space, and I am going to honor it."

Gray eyes flashed, and his lip curled. "Oh, really? Then what are _you_ doing in this part of the palace at this hour of the morning? I know that this is where you keep guests—I've stayed here before! _What were you doing with her?_" He actually snarled the last question, his free hand fisting threateningly in Zuko's collar.

For a millisecond, Zuko outright panicked, but he recovered his composure with commendable speed. "I was simply checking on her, Avatar. She did not have the most pleasant of nights, after all."

"Thanks to you!" Aang growled, not removing his hand. "You were the one who shoved her in this direction anyway, and since she's not here to defend you, boy, are you gonna hear it from me! You're my _best friend_—what the hell would possess you to turn on me like this, to corrupt the girl I love? What?"

"You're not thinking clearly," Zuko said, prying the airbender's fingers from his shirtfront. If you're thinking at all, he added to himself. "I would never betray either of you like that."

Aang snorted derisively. "Yeah, right," he scoffed. "Don't think that because I'm younger than you or a monk or something that that makes me blind and naïve! I've seen the way you look at her, and just because I hadn't connected the dots till now doesn't mean I never noticed in the first place. You made her do all this because you wanted her all to yourself! How could you stoop so low?"

Zuko nearly slid back a step, his survival instincts desiring some distance from the furious teenager, but he held his ground. "How could you stoop so low as to accuse me of such treachery?" he returned, twisting the younger's words back on him. "I respected your relationship, I truly did! I would never dream of soiling my own or her honor by attempting something behind your back—don't you know me at _all_?"

Aang's eyes narrowed. "You don't deny it, then. You do want her."

"Wha—no! I don't—I _love_ her!" Zuko blurted, and in the elongated seconds that followed, he slowly realized what he had just said.

Aang stared at him, shell-shocked. He remained silent and numb for a moment before he brushed past the equally silent and numb Fire Lord, continuing on his way to Katara's chambers.

After wrestling with his traitorous tongue, Zuko spun around and dashed back into the Avatar's way. "Just wait," he said, not meeting the other boy's eyes. "I sincerely don't think you should see her. The waters should settle from the storm before you go for a swim, as Uncle would say. You'll probably just end up exacerbating the situation, what with how stubborn you both are. And…and she's gone through enough lately. I won't allow you to put more pressure on her like that, no matter how noble your intentions."

The airbender studied the other, his expression caught somewhere between blank and forlorn. At length his aggressive stance softened, and he mumbled, "You really do, don't you?"

Zuko still did not raise his head. "Seems that way," he admitted, much of that confession directed at himself.

The sound of her bag dropping to the tile echoed in the near-empty hall, a different version of a white flag. "Maybe you'll be lucky enough to have her love you back," Aang continued quietly, almost musingly. "I really hope you aren't, heh, but…" He shrugged, a nearly imperceptible rise and fall of his lean shoulders. "It's the greatest feeling in the world."

Zuko didn't really know how to reply to that, or if the Avatar wanted one at all, so he merely nodded in acknowledgment.

An uncertain pause lengthened, and then: "Tell her I'm sorry."

He didn't bother asking for what and simply nodded again.

Aang lingered a few moments longer, as if he had some inclination to say more but wasn't entirely sure how to vocalize it, and then he shook his head and turned away, heading back the way he'd come.

Zuko waited until the Avatar had completely vanished from sight before he lifted Katara's pack, shouldered it, and trudged back to her room. His heart felt heavy in his chest.

* * *

When he reached the door, Zuko hesitated, fingers frozen in the action of cradling the knob. He contemplated knocking, but reasoned that he had only left less than five minutes prior, and that she wouldn't be sleeping. There was nothing to interrupt.

Part of him was wracked with guilt—Katara and Aang had been broken up for less than twelve hours, and he had already slept with her, and however innocently the night had been spent, it still seemed like a blow to the Avatar's face. He did not hold the tattooed boy's anger against him; he could only imagine how angry he would have been, wondered how many walls he would have burned down.

And Aang hadn't even known the details…Agni above. Although in this case suspicions were worse than the truth.

With a sigh, Zuko eased the door open and stepped inside, glancing about automatically to locate her. She was standing with her back facing him, slipping through the graceful stances of waterbending. It appeared to be some sort of morning exercise, and he watched in quiet admiration as she effortlessly manipulated the contents of her wash basin.

It curled around her limbs, following her movements as if it were a living creature. He wondered if he could possibly move fire like that, so very smoothly, and look as beautiful doing it.

She glanced over her shoulder, tipped off by a sixth sense, and upon seeing him returned the water to the basin. "Ah, Zuko, you're back soon. I wasn't expecting you…to…"

She trailed off, and Zuko concluded that she must have interpreted (correctly, as usual) the look on his face.

He strode forward and set her bag down on the bed, which separated the two of them. He devoted a long moment simply to breathing, and then he raised his eyes to hers and said, "He wanted you to know that he's sorry."

Katara held his gaze, and he could nearly see the wheels turning in her head as she processed that. But then she simply balanced one knee on the mattress's edge and reached across for her pack. She rummaged through it, finally extracting her usual plain dress, and slipped into the garment in silence. It wasn't until she had secured the sleeveless robe's front that she spoke.

"I hope…I hope that he didn't…" She paused, unsure how to continue, and admitted defeat with a vague shake of her head. She turned her attention to wrapping the navy leather bindings around her forearms and focused more absolutely than necessary, apparently at a loss for further conversation.

Zuko slid his hands into his pockets and re-encountered the heavy locket. His fingers tensed around it momentarily before he drew it out, once again tracing the character set in the lid. He glanced up, watching as she strode over to the mirror and began messing with her hair. Her slender fingers easily manipulated the thick locks, and he stepped behind her as she finished knotting the end of the braid, still long even though it only contained half her hair.

Her reflection looked inquiringly at his, and he dropped his eyes to the locket resting in his upturned palms. She followed his gaze in the mirror, and then she suddenly spun around.

"You found it!" she exclaimed and began to reach for it before she hesitated. "Er, may I?"

He consented, proffering the precious necklace.

Katara took it reverently, easing the clasp open and lifting the lid. There was a long pause as she regarded the tiny portraits within, and at length she said softly, "They look…happy."

Zuko understood the note of uncertainty in her voice. He couldn't believe his parents had loved each other, so he hardly expected her to. He retrieved the locket and closed the lid to the past with a tiny click. "A piece of my mother's hair, as Ozai said. Hopefully there is enough of her scent left to give Jun's shirsu a clear trail."

Katara nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "Yeah…I wonder how we'll find Jun. I mean, I know you managed to locate her back when we were trying to find…to find Aang before Ozai's invasion, but that had to be luck, right? I don't imagine you keep tabs on her."

He smiled thinly at that remark. "No, I don't. But she's not too hard to find these days; after the Fire Nation retreated to its own borders, there have been random militants and bloodthirsty soldiers still performing Ozai's dirty work. Jun has actually been essential in tracking down many of them, for a fee, of course," he added. "I hear she even has a team now."

"Really? Must be enough demand," she said lightly, faintly amused. "So how…?"

Zuko shrugged. "I'll just put word out that I require her services, and sooner or later I'll receive a hawk detailing her whereabouts. I can't imagine that it would take more than a week."

Katara placed her hands on either side of his, sandwiching the locket, and she said earnestly, "In a week, then, we'll begin the search for your mother."

Zuko searched her ice-blue eyes for a long moment, the reassurance in her voice combining with the hope in his chest and making him ache strangely. In that brief time, he recalled the Avatar's words and privately agreed that if Katara ever did fall in love with him, that would indeed be the greatest feeling in the world.

The moment passed, and he smiled crookedly, more grateful than ever to have her in his life.

* * *

It was Tuesday, and the sun reflected brightly off the placid surface of the dead volcano's largest lake. Zuko frowned as they walked along the paved path to the healing house, but he had been frowning the entire way. Katara kept sneaking sidelong glances, wondering if he would ever let up his desolate exterior.

"You know, we don't have to do this," she said gently, more than a little concerned for him.

He shook his head resolutely. "No, I want to," he replied, as bleakly determined as he had been the entire morning, ever since he had revealed his usual activities on this particular day of the week. And while Katara had been deeply touched that he would allow her into the most guarded part of his life, she didn't want him to force the encounter. It wasn't as if she'd be offended if he rescinded the offer.

"If you're sure," she said, leaving it hanging, giving him an out.

But once again, he answered strongly, "I am."

With a subtle shrug, she let it be and continued strolling down the path. It had been several days since Zuko had let his intentions to hire Jun be known, and so far there had not been any word concerning the bounty hunter. Katara wasn't overly worried at the delay, as Zuko had admitted it would take a little time, but she was worried about its effect on him. It seemed that with each hour of inactivity that passed, Zuko just grew tenser and tenser, and sooner or later she knew he would snap.

So it had somewhat confused her that he wanted to visit Azula, which was sure to be an emotionally draining experience, but she hadn't questioned his decision aloud, only the decision to include her. This was his sister, and she wasn't altogether sure she'd be comfortable with outsiders, even friends, seeing Sokka if the same happened to him.

Even the idle thought made her cringe inwardly, and she offered a quick, silent prayer to Twi and La—and perhaps to Yue, too—to watch over her elder brother and keep him safe. Spirits knew he was happy enough married to Suki; in fact, she had never seen him actually smile so much. Now that Aang was out of the picture, she had difficulty imagining such a happy future for herself, at least in the context of marriage. It wasn't as if she ever got to know any young men; she and Aang had always moved around too much, not to mention that they had been together the whole time. And she knew she couldn't exactly marry Haru.

She shook her head of such lighthearted thoughts, refocusing on their destination. It had been an old manor at one point in time, now converted into a hospital. With the pleasant weather, many patients and their families and caretakers were out enjoying the sun, but when Zuko headed unerringly towards the door, she knew Azula would not be amongst them.

And part of that rankled in her gut. She knew that Azula was an entirely different person from the ruthless, power-hungry princess she had been three years ago, but still…it seemed too strange, somehow. The last time she had encountered the girl, after all, the lightning-bender had attempted to kill her and very nearly killed her own brother when Zuko had gotten in the way.

Katara shook her head of that, too—she did not like dwelling on that memory, on the horrible moment when she thought that he, like Aang, had been struck down right before her eyes, that he would be dead before he hit the ground and that this time, she had no oasis water to heal him. He had been alright, of course: wounded but not too severely, as he had managed to dilute the lightning's energy throughout his system via firebending, though the lightning had left a splash-like scar in the middle of his abdomen. She had largely been able to make that mark disappear, and she wondered again if she could vanish the terrible memory on his face.

Their footsteps echoed loudly in the large entrance room, and she followed him in silence as he brushed past the nurses' station, apparently neither desiring nor requiring any forewarnings of his sister's condition. They climbed a broad staircase, and Katara observed with some concern as Zuko's shoulders inched higher and straighter from tension. She glanced down his arms: he was wearing short sleeves, and she could see the tendons standing out on his pale forearms like ropes and that the blood had completely drained from his knuckles.

He was putting himself under too much pressure, and she hated to see it. She opened her mouth, ready to declare her judgment that she should not accompany him, but a door not too far from their position eased open, revealing two women carrying bundles of cloth. The elder of the pair noticed them first, and she bowed deeply, the younger only a few seconds behind her as she said, "Good morning, Fire Lord."

Zuko nodded curtly, not about to make small talk.

"We just finished changing the linens," the elder continued, indicating the bundles. "The princess was as welcoming as usual."

Katara had a feeling that statement would mean more applied to a different person.

Zuko merely nodded again, still staring stoically straight ahead, as if he were only peripherally aware of the two maids.

"The princess doesn't usually have any other guests," the younger one piped up, looking at the waterbender curiously and clearly asking for an introduction.

Before Katara could speak, though, Zuko denied the presumption that he was oblivious to the present, saying tonelessly, "This is the Avatar's waterbending teacher, the master Sifu Katara."

"My lady," the two maids acknowledged, bowing to her as well.

"Hello," Katara replied, her attention largely held by the firebender, whose eyes could almost be described as glazed if there hadn't been such frightening intensity in their depths. "Um…thank you, but we'll be visiting the princess now," she added, as Zuko seemed entirely disinclined to excuse himself from the situation.

The two maids merely bobbed another bow and continued on down the hall; Katara could hear them begin whispering amongst themselves once they deemed they were a respectable distance from the pair.

_"Do you think that means the Avatar is here?"_

_"I don't know…"_

"Zuko?" she hazarded, studying his profile.

He spared her a sidelong glance. "I'm fine, Katara. Really."

His voice was so taut it was a wonder it didn't break, so Katara merely raised a brow, allowing him to open the door to his sister's chamber. It glided in on silent hinges, and the two visitors stepped inside, the girl a few steps behind the boy—a position half out of respect and half out of uncertainty.

Azula occupied her wheeled chair, which sat in the shaft of bright sunlight streaming through the floor-length window. She did not seem aware of their presence; her back was to them, her face tilted skyward, and she did not turn to look when they walked closer.

Zuko lowered himself into his usual chair, sitting on the edge with his elbows on his knees and his fingers tightly laced. "Hello, Azula," he began, glancing up at Katara before his gaze refocused on his sister. The waterbender understood the silent request and stepped to his side, resting one hand lightly on his broad shoulder.

Azula did not turn for several heartbeats, and then her eyes slid very slowly to look at the two of them. In fact, Katara could hardly say that she looked _at_ them at all; it was more as if her eyes were pointing in that direction, where they just happened to be. She made no verbal acknowledgment of their existence, and the amber orbs rolled lazily back to fix on the cobalt sky.

She felt Zuko tense slightly beneath her hand, but given his lack of real surprise, she concluded this must be an ordinary reaction. For her part, it was incredibly strange to see the firebending prodigy in this condition—as she had just recalled, the last time they had been in the same vicinity, the princess had done her level best to kill her.

But now she was so…empty.

Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. How much must this hurt him, to see her like this? She hoped her grip managed to convey something comforting because her voice was caught up in her throat.

"I don't suppose you remember Katara," Zuko continued, and she couldn't miss the rawness riding the edges of his words. "Not fondly, anyway," he added with a bitter little smirk.

Azula shifted her frail body in the chair; the blanket strewn across her lap slipped a little, and she lowered a slow, idle hand to hold it in place, not seeming aware of the action. She made no response to Zuko's remarks.

He bowed his head into his hands, releasing a long, quiet sigh. Katara's hand slid along his shoulder and up his neck, her fingers sifting soothingly through his shaggy hair; he relaxed marginally at that and raised his head anew, this time looking up at her.

"I don't suppose…that you could somehow…waterbend…"

She studied the lost princess critically for a few seconds before she shrugged. "I don't know, Zuko. I'm sure that the healers here have explored every possible solution, waterbending included. I know that since the war ended the Northern Tribe has been sending out benders to aid in the recovery; surely some of them stopped by here."

He nodded listlessly. "Yeah, I think I remember that, a long time ago. I just…hoped. But the medics say that there's nothing physically wrong with her, so that there's nothing they can really heal the old-fashioned way. _Be patient,_ they said," he relayed, sneering. "_She'll recover eventually_. What they failed to say is that eventually is a very long time."

Katara had no real reply to that, so she simply ran her fingers through the fluff at the nape of his neck again. At length, she observed, "She seems so…out of it. Is she ever aware?"

Zuko snorted. "Depends on your definition of the word. Sometimes she does talk to me, but then again, she doesn't think I'm me half the time. Mostly she talks about…about Mom."

She closed her eyes, the lids suddenly as heavy as the weight in her heart.

"I think she's regressing, somehow, to our childhood," he explained slowly, as if the words themselves cut his throat on the way out. "She calls me _Zuzu_, which used to be her nickname for me when we were really, really little, and she sometimes asks me—or Mom, more accurately—to braid her hair, and she hasn't worn braids since she was six or seven. I dunno," he concluded with a shrug. "Maybe it was a happy time for her. Maybe I shouldn't want her to come back to the here and now, where Mom is gone and Dad's insane and she'll just end up in prison.

"Maybe it's better this way." The phrase was drenched in bitter poison.

Katara lifted her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, as if that could alleviate the emphatic pain his words had conjured.

"She's not in pain," he continued, as though he had dwelt on all this for so long without an outlet, and now given the opportunity, he couldn't replace the stopper in the proverbial bottle. "She's not plotting her revenge or trying to make anyone miserable anymore. Really, the world is better off without her interfering. She can't hurt anyone now."

She simply listened patiently, her hand sliding down to loosely cover her mouth.

Zuko's expression twisted into a sorrowful grimace. "But…" he conceded, his voice little more than his exhale, "but it's not okay, is it. She shouldn't be like this, and I can't…I can't stand…" He fell silent, choked off by the thickness in this throat, and he lowered his head again, eyes tightly shut to fight the tears.

Katara wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him as best she could while he was sitting in the chair and she was standing beside it. She leaned into his back, bending until her cheek rested gently against his hair, and simply held him for an indeterminable interval in which he wept and she tried her best to comfort him and Azula stared unknowingly out the window.

But then:

"Zuzu?"

Katara eased away as Zuko looked up sharply, his bloodshot eyes locking on his sister's. And for an instant, for half a second, clarity lived in Azula's gaze. But like a candle's flame in a gale, it flickered out in the next, leaving the golden irises as blank and empty as they had been before.

"Tea would be nice," she stated, her glazed gaze shifting about a bit, searching for her supplies.

"I'll make it," Zuko said quickly, nearly leaping up from the chair and busying himself with Iroh's set.

Katara sat halfway on the armrest, some of her weight still on her dangling leg for balance. She didn't quite know what to make of Azula's brush with reality, but it was clear that the princess was incapable of living in the present.

Azula watched Zuko for a few moments without really seeing him, and then she transferred her gaze to stare, as ever, out the window at the lake.

"There's only two cups," the Fire Lord said as he handed one carefully to Azula, who accepted it thoughtlessly with thin, cautious fingers. "Do you…?"

Katara flicked her wrist, summoning a tiny whip of tea and bending it directly to her mouth. "Mm, nope, I'm good now."

As she had hoped, he smiled, however faintly and evanescently, before he installed himself back in the chair. Now he reclined, slumped against the plush back, and sipped his tea in distant intervals, too caught up in his thoughts to focus on the beverage.

The waterbending master simply waited again, noticing that while Azula occasionally made the motions to raise the cup to her lips, it never quite managed to make it there. It was as if she got distracted halfway, even though her expression never changed.

To think that Zuko spent lonely hours like this every week…it made her chest ache. She had thought the pain of losing her mother was unbearable, but at least she'd always had Sokka, and her father, while distant, wasn't anything like Ozai. Kana, too, had always been determined to preserve the feeling of family. She could not imagine how much it had to hurt to lose everyone, some to their own evil ambitions, some to yet unknown places.

And for the first time, Katara understood why Zuko had sided with his sister in Ba Sing Se. Not out of malice towards her or even lust for the Avatar's capture—no, he had simply wanted some semblance of belonging to the people closest to him, at least by blood.

To reclaim that childhood he barely remembered.

When Zuko had finished his tea, and more quiet minutes had drifted from present to past without any change from the former prodigy, they left. And when they emerged into the hallway, Katara embraced him so tightly her arms hurt from the strain.

* * *

"Agni—she's here!"

"What?" Katara asked, raising her head. She was slouched sideways across one of the guest chairs in the Fire Lord's office, idly twisting some water into a double helix. "Who's where?"

Zuko shot to his feet, a scroll hefted triumphantly above his head in one hand even as his other hand slammed into the paperwork on his desk. "Jun, of course! She's here, in the capital!"

Gracelessly, Katara lurched upright and stumbled to his desk, where she caught herself on the edge; her legs hadn't quite gotten beneath her yet. She dissipated the water back into the air with a dismissive sort of wave, her eyes flickering from Zuko's to the lofty message. "Well?" she prompted.

He scanned the columns of characters swiftly once more, nodding as he read snippets aloud. "Yes, yes…it says that she just returned to the capital…apparently had a bounty to deliver to a client here…and that she mentioned she'll be staying at the…the Rusty Anchor, down near the harbor."

He slowly lowered the scroll down, holding it flat to his desk as he leaned both hands on it heavily. He remained in that pose for some time, so long that she felt the need to prompt him again.

"You okay, Zuko?" she asked, bending down to try to see his face.

He made an affirmative sort of grunt and slowly raised his head. "Yeah, I'm just…it's just…" He swallowed awkwardly and tried again. "I've waited so long…and now that it seems like it's finally starting, I can't quite…"

She covered one of his hands with hers and gave it a squeeze. The excitement and nerves roiling in her stomach were a force to be reckoned with, and hers were all secondhand. "I can understand that," she told him, a smile flitting about her lips. "So how about we do this?"

Zuko studied her for a long, silent moment, and then he gave a resolute nod, straightening up and rolling the scroll. "Let's do this," he agreed, and then he was striding past her and out the door, and Katara had to nearly run to catch up with him. He paused halfway down the corridor, so abruptly that she almost slammed into his back. "Wait—the locket!"

She stepped around to his side and cast him a glance, complete with an arched eyebrow. "You mean the locket you've taken to wearing around your neck?" she remarked dryly.

He clutched it through his shirtfront, and his shoulders relaxed a notch. "Oh. Right. Thank Agni…"

And then they were off again.

* * *

It took some time to get down to the port—situated as it was in the mouth of a dead volcano, the capital could not very well have a conveniently placed harbor. They had to follow the winding road down the ridged slopes of the mountain, and even in late afternoon, the route was still bustling with traders and travelers: there were considerably more of the latter than there used to be.

Katara had some difficulty keeping pace with him, and not just because he was practically running downhill. Everyone parted before their ruler like waves before a prow, giving him a nice berth, but since Katara was a few steps behind him, the crowds had already reconnected, forcing her to find her own, slower way to the docks. It was lucky, she conceded, that Zuko was so tall—it wasn't easy to lose track of him in the mêlée.

Once they reached the harbor, though, the swarms of people had more places to spread out, and she managed to finally catch up with him. He strode forward with an unerring sense of purpose, and she reasoned that the Rusty Anchor must be a very popular destination, or perhaps one he had often frequented, for him to be so certain of its location.

The harbor was practically a second city, and it took awhile to wind through all the various streets and alleys—Zuko appeared to be taking the path of least resistance, cutting directly across and not caring how many already-drunken sailors he had to step over. The two benders were very nearly atop the long quays themselves by the time they reached the chosen tavern.

Katara paused as Zuko paused, and she glanced up at the unremarkable façade; the only part of the building worth noticing was the very authentic rusty anchor that the owner had rigged to hang above the door. No other sign was necessary.

From the raucous cacophony tumbling from the open doors, the tavern was already packed. Katara noticed that Zuko had his hand fisted in his shirtfront again, and she nudged her shoulder into his arm.

"C'mon," she said softly. "Almost there."

He made a strangled sort of noise but walked forward regardless, the strength in his stride belying his apprehension. She followed a step behind, glancing around the interior when they crossed the threshold. It was a large building, three stories high with the first two open to the tavern, the second possessing a balcony that ran around the edge. People were everywhere, standing or sitting or shoving each other in an effort to either stand or sit, and the noise was incredible.

Nobody spared Zuko a first glance, let alone a second, and she wondered if he did come here often, if only for the anonymity. He waded through the crowds, heading for the counter and the probably knowledgeable bartenders, but Katara waited near the door, not desiring to get lost in the press of people.

As she idly scanned the crowd, she saw something that caught her eye on the balcony—a shallow, conical hat, which wasn't all that interesting by itself, except that she could see an unstrung longbow and a full quiver slung across the man's back. That almost looked like…

"Katara? Well, long time no see, eh?"

Now she had to be hallucinating. She knew that voice, that cocky, suave voice…

She slowly turned her head, unable to process the information her eyes were sending her, convinced that they were lying to her somehow. Because it couldn't be him, it _couldn't be_…but he looked so very similar, albeit taller and older and a bit scruffier, and he even still had the piece of grass hanging oh-so-nonchalantly from his lower lip.

Her jaw worked several times without any sound emerging, which only prompted him to smirk wider.

Finally, though, she choked out his name, breathless with disbelief.

"_Jet?_"


	10. dix

* * *

_**Beyond the Rising Sun**_

_**x.**_

"_Jet?_"

His smirk broadened into a grin, grass stalk clamped tightly beneath his white teeth, and he slid into an exaggeratedly deep bow. "In the flesh, Katara. Don't look so disappointed."

Her mouth flapping uselessly once more, the waterbender strove to get a grip on her lost composure, but it seemed to have very definitively made its escape, fleeing to realms where trivial things like breathing took place. She sagged against the wall behind her, fingers foggily searching for a grip in the wall's wood grain, and just stared at him for an indeterminable moment.

She blinked. Slowly. Multiple times. And after forcing a swallow through her reluctant, balking throat, she managed to croak, "N-no, I'm not…I'm not _disappointed_…I'm just…I…"

"Shocked into speechlessness?" He leaned one broad shoulder against the wall, his arms folding comfortably on his chest, and watched her with amused dark eyes.

Katara bobbed her head in something like an affirmative nod, wide blue eyes traveling up and down his lean form, trying to create enough space in her head to accommodate this rather mind-blowing development: Jet could not be alive. But he was still dressed in an array of mismatched clothes and armor, albeit a different set, and except for the fact that he was taller and broader and more filled out—not to mention the stubble arrayed along his jawline—he looked exactly the same. Exactly as he had beneath Lake Laogai…

"But you're dead," she finally said, clinging tenaciously to this last scrap of saving logic. "T-Toph said…"

"You'd believe the blind earthbender before your own eyes? Come on, Katara," he said good-naturedly, adding, "maybe you'll believe your fingers."

He snatched one of her hands in a flawless gesture and pressed her trembling fingers to his neck just to the side of his throat, smirking anew when comprehension finally flickered across her face as the subtle pounding of his pulse sank in. She looked up at him, a smile slowly curving her lips, and embraced him with a frightening turn of speed.

Jet grunted at the sudden impact but then settled into the hug, chuckling quietly in her ear at the change.

"And here I thought she was _your_ girlfriend, Fire Lord."

The former Freedom Fighter and the waterbender eased away from each other, both turning their heads to face the speaker.

Jun stood there, smirking in a rather Jet-like fashion, and balanced one half-gloved hand on her hip as she observed the whole scene with interest.

Zuko simply gaped, one finger raised in a vaguely accusatory manner. "What? You and him—?"

Katara and Jet exchanged glances and then both looked at Zuko; all three spoke in distressing unison.

"_You know each other?!_"

They all paused in sync as well, jaws hanging open for a second before Katara stepped forward, waving her hands as if determined to deny any more surprises for the day. "Wa-wa-wa-wa-wait," she said, slurring the word together in her swift repetition. "Jet, you know Zuko?"

Jet grinned cockily and conceded, "More like I knew Li, eh, Mr. I'm-Not-A-Firebender Fire Lord?"

Zuko simply narrowed his eyes at the rebel before he rounded on the waterbender. "And how do you know this punk, anyway?"

"Punk? That's harsh, Li," Jet said, clearly in full swing now as he slung a casual arm around Katara's shoulders. "Besides, we go way back, don't we?" he added, sending her a prompting sidelong glance.

She flushed, making no move to remove his arm—although that might simply have been out of residual shock—and did not meet Zuko's eyes. "Er, well, yes, I suppose we do…well, until you betrayed me," she added, a bit more acid in her voice, and then she paused, mulling over that phrase. She slipped away from Jet, standing in the middle once more, and glanced between the two young men.

"Alright, what is with me and getting betrayed by boys with shaggy hair?" she demanded, although there was a hint of humor in her tone, a partially incredulous grin fighting to escape her lips.

Jet and Zuko spared each other a quick look, unable to deny the similarities between their hairstyles.

And then Jet combed his fingers back through his blithely. "Well, I had it first," he said, as if that solved everything.

"But how do you two know each other?" Katara persisted. "I mean, _when_?"

Zuko glowered at the cocky boy, clearly not about to forgive him for his past infractions or his very recent display of affection with a certain waterbending master. "We met on the ferry to Ba Sing Se, when Uncle and I were posing as refugees to escape Azula. Straw-boy here thought it would be a brilliant idea to nick food from the captain's quarters, and since I didn't like the peasant gruel—"

"A fact that now makes more sense to me, Lord Li," Jet interjected, smirking madly.

Zuko pretended not to hear. "—I went along with it," he continued. "It all was quite well and good in the beginning; we discussed how we were on our way to the city to start new lives—"

"I guess you weren't lying about that," Katara said softly, studying the tan boy, whose smirk melted into a quieter smile as if to offer her absolution.

"—but then he saw Uncle firebending his tea, and ever since then, he was on our case, trying to get us to expose ourselves as firebenders so he could hand us over to the authorities," Zuko continued in a much louder tone, obviously in an effort to override the constant interruptions.

Jet snorted, leaning against the wall again. "And I was _so wrong_ in my assumptions, wasn't I, Li?" He shook his head. "It's a pity Long Feng put me out of commission, or maybe I'd have been able to stop you from taking over Ba Sing Se!"

Zuko actually growled, and to everyone's surprise, Jun slid into the middle of the almost-brawl, forcibly holding the two men at arm's length.

"I won't have unnecessary squabbling between my crew and my clients," she declared, fixing them both with a stern glare.

This, however, only caused more hubbub.

"_What?!_"

"We're hired by Li?" demanded Jet, and then he spat at Zuko, "I suppose you have enough money in the royal coffers, Fire Lord!"

Zuko cast Jun a half-disgusted glance. "You actually teamed up with this idiot? What would possess—"

"Alright, everybody, just shut up!" Katara yelled, and when other patrons of the Rusty Anchor glanced in her direction, she smiled sheepishly and added, "Well, no, not you. You can…party on, or whatever."

The buzz of conversation rose back into a dull roar, and Katara glared at the two boys.

"Clearly the two of you are incapable, for the moment—and I stress that contingency—of getting along. So—Zuko, you plan everything out with Jun. I will be taking a stroll with certain straw-chewing zombies in an effort to find us some middle ground. Understood?"

Zuko's jaw was clenched so tightly it was a wonder his teeth didn't permanently fuse, but he gave a jerky nod nevertheless.

"Straw-chewing zombies?" Jet echoed, clearly deploring her choice of words. Her renewed glare, though, cowed him into something like agreement. "Fine, fine…I'll try to play nice with His Lordship Li."

"Stop calling me that!" Zuko began to protest, but he was cut off by Katara's sharply raised hand.

"Ah ah ah! Not talking to each other!" she reminded him, and then she grabbed Jet by the sleeve and hauled him bodily out of the tavern.

Jun, who had watched the whole affair with considerable amusement, cocked her head to one side as she looked at Zuko. "Are you absolutely sure she's never been your girlfriend?"

One of these days, Zuko vowed, oh, one of these days! Out loud, though, he only grunted, "Let's go somewhere quieter. I have serious matters to discuss."

* * *

The sun continued its slow descent to the western horizon, dyeing the ocean in a blurry wash of fiery reds and blinding golds. Katara walked half a pace ahead of her newly rediscovered companion, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on the cobblestones some six feet ahead of her, and then on the wooden planks when she diverged onto a pier.

Jet made no comment, simply following her in uncharacteristically patient silence, and when she sat down on the edge of the dock, hanging her legs over the water, he hesitated for a moment before reclining next to her.

She didn't look at him, stolidly observing the setting sun through squinted eyes. But at length she dropped her gaze to her hands, which were gathered in her lap, and simply said, "So."

His piece of grass traveled from one corner of his mouth to the other in a thoughtful manner. "So," he echoed, and he adjusted his weight minutely on his hands, favoring his right more so that he was slightly turned in her direction. "He betrayed you, too, eh?"

Katara flinched inwardly but outwardly only closed her eyes in something like defeat. "What are you getting at, Jet?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, as if he didn't terribly care about the answer. "It's just funny, isn't it? That he can betray you and become your best friend, and I betray you and become your worst enemy. Just funny."

She sighed heavily, fingers rolling into momentary fists before uncurling once more. "It's not…it's not that simple, and you know that. Zuko and I…" She gave her head a vague shake before beginning anew. "Ironically enough, it all started because I thought he had changed, and then I found out he hadn't." She chewed her lower lip pensively. "I wonder why I always expect people to change," she wondered aloud, her voice so soft it was nearly lost in the crashing of the surf.

"Sometimes they do," Jet replied, a hint of defensiveness lacing his words. "I did. You just didn't believe me."

Another huff of a sigh. "I didn't believe Zuko at first, either," she explained, peripherally aggravated that he didn't just instantly understand the situation. "I hated him for a long time, even after Aang agreed to let him be his firebending teacher. I didn't trust him. I thought he was plotting to sell us out to his sister again, and it wasn't until…" She trailed off, not so much from conscious decision as a simple lack of oxygen.

"Until what?" he prompted at length, the stalk bobbing up and down as he toyed with it idly.

She gazed out across the bay for a long time before she resumed. "He helped me track down my mother's killer," she said bluntly, seeing him perk up slightly with interest from the corner of her eye. "I didn't trust him even then, but I hated that man so much that I was willing to put up with him for the time being. Actually," she admitted, reminiscing, "Aang accused me of acting like you, said my revenge was like yours. I told him they were nothing alike, that I was going after the sole guilty party and not taking out the innocent along with them, but…the funny thing is that I was so mad at him for bringing you up like that, especially since…well, since you were dead."

Jet remained silent, studying her profile.

"I couldn't quite fathom his gall, I suppose," she said, then shrugged dismissively. "But that's hardly the point."

"Did you?" he asked quietly. "Did you kill him?"

Something tightened in Katara's expression, and he watched her hands briefly become fists again.

"No," she answered curtly, but then the fight seemed to drain from her system. "But I almost did. I was this close," she said, holding up one hand in the usual accompanying gesture. "He was nearly a pincushion of icicles."

"You are deadly with those things," Jet remarked truthfully. "I should know."

"Yeah," she agreed, the word little more than her exhale.

He reached up, plucking the straw from his mouth, and spun it between his long fingers. "So what stopped you? Are you saying Zuko did?"

Katara noticed he used the other boy's actual name but made no mention of it. Instead she simply shook her head. "No. I just realized that the man who killed my mother was a cringing, pathetic excuse for a human being, and more than I felt hatred, I felt contempt. His blood wasn't worth staining my hands with," she added darkly.

Jet nodded slowly once, absorbing that. "You always were stronger than me," he said softly.

For the first time, she actually looked at him. "I don't know, Jet. You were just so terribly misguided…but if you have changed like you said…I don't know, such a metamorphosis takes a considerable amount of strength."

He smiled wryly, a bitter twist of his lips. "Don't make me sound like a saint, Katara. You know I'm far from it."

She looked back down at her hands and for just an instant saw blood. "Aren't we all," she murmured.

One of his hands rose halfway, as if he intended to touch her, but then it retreated to its place on the dock. "Well, I heard that you saved the world," he said, more lightheartedly.

"Hardly," she scoffed. "That was mostly Aang and Sokka and Toph…they were the ones who took out Ozai and the invasion fleet. I just helped Zuko usurp his sister—well, she usurped him first, so I suppose it was an act of reclaiming more than anything, but…" She trailed off with a shake of her head. "It's funny, but in the end, I hardly did anything at all."

He shifted his weight marginally. "I wouldn't say that. You did more than me, certainly," he added with a humorless laugh. "I was still out of it by the time the war ended."

She glanced at him, curiosity bubbling anew. "How did you survive, anyway? When I checked on you, you were in such bad shape…not to mention the Dai Li were everywhere…"

He waved one hand. "Never underestimate Longshot and Smellerbee—that's rule number one. The second is never underestimate how incredibly stubborn I am," he concluded, smirking faintly.

"Hung on by will alone, eh?" she guessed, mirroring his smile.

"Something like that, yeah," he agreed. "I was black and blue for months, it seemed, and a very nice sickly yellow-green after that—bruises all over my chest. And of course most of my ribs were broken, so I couldn't breathe without pain for ages…all in all, it was a lovely experience. Longshot and Bee smuggled me somewhere safe, and we just waited out the storm, really."

He wrinkled his nose. "I was only just capable of sitting up without wanting to pass out when we got the news that Ozai had been overthrown and the Avatar had won. It was all a bit surreal. Suddenly the Fire Nation was no longer a threat, and I was just suddenly so…tired. It was like it didn't matter anymore, like they'd been given a clean slate and to hell with the rest."

"Well, it wasn't exactly like that," Katara said, having been privy to more politics than she would have liked.

"Whatever," he dismissed. "I knew I couldn't go back to the Freedom Fighter ways, even though I kinda had known that already. But still, like you, I wanted to avenge my parents, my entire village. I even knew who was guilty. So once I had regained my strength and my ability to fight again, I struck out with Longshot and Bee."

"And this led you to Jun, right?" Katara guessed, seeing where this was headed.

"Eventually, yeah," he agreed. "Word got around that she was tracking down old war criminals, so we asked her if she'd take our bounty. 'Course, we had no money, so we ended up offering our services as her crew in payment instead. She didn't want to at the start, kept going on and on about how she worked alone, but after she saw us take down the Rough Rhinos—"

"Wait, what?" she interrupted. "The Rough Rhinos are the ones who destroyed your village? We ran into them in the Earth Kingdom village of Chin, some time before we arrived in Ba Sing Se…they were a nasty bunch of bastards," she added.

"Yes, well, they're nobody's problem now," he said, his voice oddly calm. "All bounties are given a dead or alive clause, but we didn't see the point in giving them the option." He shook his head then, continuing quickly with, "And we just stayed with Jun after that, tracking down all sorts of Fire Nation militants. Pretty much what I've always done, except somehow more legit."

Katara nodded, letting that all sink in. It seemed that Jet had eventually managed to find a worthy cause in life, and she was glad for him. She was about to speak when he cut her to the chase.

"I heard you're dating the Avatar. Really, Katara? The little bald kid?"

He was smirking something wicked, and she flushed faintly and looked pointedly away so he couldn't see her expression fall. "I was," she conceded. "He always had a crush on me, and we were best friends, and I guess the line just blurred sometime…and then it must've cleared up again, because we're…we're not. Anymore."

"And the Fire Lord?" Jet pressed. "Why're you with him?"

"Because he's my best friend and he needs my help," she said plainly. "We're not together."

He smirked, appearing pleased with this information. "It wouldn't have been too much of a demotion, really, dating the Fire Lord after the Avatar. Apparently you like boyfriends in high places."

"I already told you, we're not…" But she trailed off, shaking her head at the obvious reality. "It seems I do, don't I?" she added with a laugh.

"Guess that explains why we were never really together…" he mused, letting it hang.

Katara shifted her weight, suddenly aware of the tension in the air. She _had_ always been very attracted to him, but with one thing or another… "Well, you were kind of dead," she pointed out, not entirely in jest.

He faced her, one eyebrow arching. "So if I hadn't been, you're saying things would've been different? That you would've forgiven me and we would've made amends and right now we could be…" He let it hang again, his fingers skimming her cheek as he tucked wayward curls behind her ear.

Her face hot, Katara endeavored not to follow his unspoken words through to conclusion, but it was rather difficult not to, and the resulting images that flashed through her head weren't exactly unpleasant. "I—I don't know, Jet," she finally managed, angry that her voice was trembling. "It's too late now to start second-guessing the might-have-beens, isn't it?"

"Is it?" he asked in return, his voice low and husky, his breath hot on her ear.

"J-Jet, we…we can't…" she protested, rather unconvincingly.

He angled her face to his, fingers trailing along her jawline. "Stop talking," he murmured, his lips slanting over hers.

Part of her was chagrined that she let him kiss her. But by the time she returned it, none of her cared.

* * *

Back in the Rusty Anchor and happily oblivious to certain events, Zuko followed Jun upstairs to the second storey, where they collected the taciturn Longshot and the considerably more feminine Smellerbee before heading up to the third level of the tavern. Jun led them all to her rented room, and once inside, she and Zuko sat on either side of a small table, the other two bounty hunters standing like guards, silent participants.

"So, Fire Lord," Jun said, running her fingers through her long black hair idly, "what is this proposition, anyway?"

Zuko swallowed: the moment had come. He only wished Katara were here, but she was off with that loathsome rebel somewhere, and he tried to fight down the jealousy that surged anew in his soul. He thought he'd been done with that problem when she broke up with Aang, but now it seemed old boyfriends were popping out of the woodwork!

He glowered inwardly. At this rate, he'd never have a chance to show her how much she meant to him.

"Well?" Jun prompted, and Zuko only just realized he'd been quite caught up in his thoughts.

"Sorry," he apologized hastily, drawing the locket from beneath his tunic. "I need you…" he began, prying open the lid and gently lifting the curled lock, "to find my mother."

The bounty hunter studied him with an arched brow for a long moment, and then, unexpectedly, she laughed. "You are always losing people, you realize that, Fire Lord? First your girlfriend, then the Avatar, then the Avatar again, then your uncle, probably your girlfriend again, aha, and now your mother…curious."

Zuko's brow furrowed. "What d'ya mean, my girlfriend again? And she's not my girlfriend!"

Jun shrugged, smiling mysteriously. "If that's the case, Fire Lord, then you have nothing to worry about."

He made a mental note to punch Jet the next time they met—which, in his opinion now, ought to be sooner rather than later. Agni knew what that arrogant smartass would try to—He derailed that train of thought, needing to focus on the present. And he realized dully that he couldn't hold Katara to anything; it wasn't as if they were together. Regrettably enough, she was free to do as she pleased…not to mention _whom_ she—

"Damn it," he growled, earning surprised looks from two of the three bounty hunters; Longshot, naturally, took no special interest. "Sorry. Again," he added curtly, and he proffered the lock of his mother's hair to Jun. "Can you track her with this?"

The raven-haired woman delicately accepted the tiny bundle, examining it closely and even giving it a tentative sniff. At length she said, a shade suspiciously, "How old is this?"

Zuko felt the beginnings of dread bubbling in his stomach, but he held the sensation down fiercely. "Er…at least eleven years."

"Eleven—? Spirits above, Fire Lord!" she exclaimed, casting him a glance that relayed, in no uncertain terms, that she thought him a bit loony. "And you expect _results_?"

He winced, shoulders slumping. "You can't, can you? But it was my only shot…"

Jun huffed, twirling the twined strands between her fingers. "My shirsu might be able to get a scent off this, no matter how ancient the source. If it's been in that locket this whole time, the odds are better that it might have been preserved." She paused. "The difficult part will be locating that scent in the world. Much of what clings to hair is unnatural, especially considering your mother was royalty; most of it will be a combination of perfumes and scented soaps and such. If she has ceased using those since then, it could very well result in a dead end."

Zuko felt his heart sag, and he wished again that Katara were here, realized again that she was not.

"Also, since you have not known her location for eleven years, there is no starting place," Jun continued. "If she happens to be in the vicinity, it will be very strong, but the odds seem stacked against that. And if she's on the eastern coast of the Earth Kingdom, I can promise you that this will be a long and arduous assignment."

"I'm willing to pay whatever price you name," he said hurriedly. He had a fleeting feeling that wasn't the most advisable idea, but Iroh had always been the one who was good at bartering, and he was far enough past desperate not to care.

"That does make this a more interesting prospect," the bounty hunter mused agreeably. "I will have to discuss the business arrangements with my crew," she said with a nod to the former Freedom Fighters, "but I will have an answer and a quote for you by morning. You might as well stay here in the harbor; I'll give you time to return to your palace should we come to an accord."

"Thank you," Zuko said, rising and bowing deeply. "I…I can't express my gratitu—"

"Oh, you'll be able to, Fire Lord, with your wallet," Jun pointed out. "And don't thank me till the job's done, although I appreciate your fervor. Now, if you'll excuse us…"

"Of course," Zuko agreed, nearly stumbling over his own feet in his excitement—the journey was beginning, he could feel it in his bones! He managed to make it to the door unscathed, though, and found his way back down to the tavern. He scanned the crowd briefly from the second storey's balcony, searching for Katara, and when he did not find her, he experienced a somewhat off-balance feeling in his chest. Part of him wanted to go looking for her, but the rest of him was peripherally afraid of what he might find.

He had never known Jet particularly long or well, but the tan boy had a talent for drawing people to him, an almost annoying natural charisma. Zuko, on the other hand, felt he had a talent for shoving people away; you had to really get to know the firebender before you weren't put off by his quick temper or somewhat blunt reactions.

Katara had gotten past that barrier, but she had known Jet before, and to have him suddenly re-enter her life…Zuko knew that would be occupying much of her mind, and he really couldn't blame her. Whether they were old friends or old enemies or old exes, they would still have an effect on each other.

Zuko slumped onto a bar stool and ordered himself a bottle of sake. He poured himself a dish, sipping it pensively. He had thought—that morning when she'd woken up in his arms and touched his scar—that something had sparked, that even for an instant she had seen him as more than just Zuko, the best friend. He had dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, happiness had finally come knocking at his door.

He threw back the dish and refilled it. But happiness in his case was an eternal tease, forever one step forward and two steps back. He was finally on the right track to find his mother, and the girl he loved had to run into her old flame.

It just could not be easy, could it?

* * *

"Mm…Jet…wa-wait…"

Jet sighed shortly, his breath a hot puff of air against the hollow beneath her throat. "What is it now?" he asked wearily, one eyebrow rising languidly.

Katara faltered for an instant, a good portion of her mind wondering why she'd bothered hitting the brakes and not entirely happy with that. "It's…it's just…this is a public pier, ya know," she finally said, grabbing at absolutely anything. "People can see…"

His eyebrow only arched higher. "You're the one who straddled me, not the other way around."

She shifted her weight delicately on her knees, flushing darker than ever. "True," she acknowledged in a very small voice. "That's…that's definitely true…"

"Unless, of course," he continued, smirking devilishly, "you meant that you want to move this somewhere more private."

"No!" she yelped, and she pressed her palms against his chest, pushing him back a bit. "No," she repeated, quieter now. "That's not what I meant, Jet. I…I don't want to continue…like this."

"And by _like this_ do you mean without a profound and meaningful emotional connection?" he drawled, sounding as if he were reciting a textbook on romance.

She resisted the urge to squirm, not entirely sure what _that_ would provoke. "Don't make it sound so stupid," she grumbled. "It's important to me. Since you're here and all, alive and all, shouldn't we finally get to know each other? Could it be so horrible?"

He appeared to give the matter some thought. "No," he finally conceded. "But…I can think of other ways that we can get to know each other, several of which will make it hard to walk properly afterwards."

Katara set her jaw very tightly at that not-so-subtle innuendo, and she had never hated her imagination quite as much as she hated it in that moment. "Damn it, Jet," she ground out through gritted teeth. "You are not making this easy."

His dark eyes twinkled mischievously. "And may I point out that you're still sitting on my lap?"

Swearing like a very drunken sailor, Katara gained her feet rather awkwardly and began storming down the dock, stopping only when Jet's hand on her arm literally dragged her to a halt. For a fleeting moment, she wished she were a firebender, if only she could breathe flames at him.

"What?" she spat, trying to imbue the word with as much venom as physically possible.

He exhaled a very slow breath. "I'm sorry," he apologized at length. "For moving this too fast, or…" He shook his head, aggravated with his inability to communicate verbally. "It's just—you and I, we've always—"

"I know," she said quietly. "I know," she said again, because it seemed like a good thing to say.

"You can't fake this kind of attraction," he said, a faint laugh riding the words.

"I know that, too," she acknowledged, feeling his fingers relax on her arm until they slipped free. "But we've always been at odds, Jet. Over something or another. I don't really know if we could ever make it work."

He studied her seriously for a long, uncomfortable moment. "This isn't just about us, is it."

It was not a question.

Katara frowned and busied herself with straightening her clothing. "I can't imagine how it's about anything else," she remarked, confused.

He smirked, but there was something bitter around the edges. "I'm talking about Li."

"Zuko?" she asked, bewildered. "What on earth does he have to—"

"'Cause you're just friends, right?" Jet guessed. "Best friends, I think you said. Well, weren't you best friends with the Avatar, and look where that got you. You think it'll be different this time around?"

"No, you don't…we aren't…" She fell silent, frustrated with the sudden twist the situation had taken. But then she remembered how his fingers had felt twined with her own, how unsettled his soft yet heavy gaze had made her. Certainly that wasn't something two "just" friends experienced.

"But…we aren't…" she tried again, but this time she had a sinking feeling the argument was dead before it started.

Jet nodded slowly and then ducked close, stealing a final kiss from her unprotesting lips. He replaced the straw nonchalantly and eased his hands into his pockets as he began walking away. "Tell you what, Katara," he called back to her. "Once that blurring line clears up again, look me up. We can continue where we left off."

Managing to recover some measure of her sense, she replied, "I'll see you tomorrow, you realize, you idiot!"

He grinned. "Oh, I know. I look forward to it."

Katara huffed, even though she felt a smile creeping from the corners of her mouth. That was Jet for you, after all.

* * *

By the time Katara returned to the Rusty Anchor, it was to a brooding and thoroughly incapacitated Zuko. He was slumped on the bar, idly rolling the empty sake bottle around on its base, apparently engrossed in the way the lantern-light reflected off the glass. She slid onto the stool next to him and plucked the bottle from his grasp.

He slanted her a glazed but dissatisfied look. "I was…I was drinkin' tha'," he slurred in as much of a reprimand as he could muster.

"Believe me, Zuko, that fact is not in dispute," Katara observed dryly, prying the dish from his hands next.

He studied her with bleary amber eyes as his thoughts slowly marshaled themselves. "How's…yer boyfrien'?"

She was pleased that she didn't blush too violently. "Jet is not my boyfriend," she said, impressed with herself for making her voice strong and clear, and she felt vaguely as if she had just jumped some hurdle.

"Oh…" Zuko said, and he nodded without much coordination. "'S good…'s good…I wouldna wan' tha'…"

The flush crept back across her cheeks. "Really," she stated, mostly for lack of anything else to say.

He mumbled an affirmation, and she found his struggle to focus on her strangely cute.

"I think I'll just get you upstairs then and let you sleep this off," she declared in a more businesslike manner, standing up and easing his arm around her slender shoulders. He leaned heavily against her side, not entirely capable of attending to his feet. She realized, with some dread, that this would not be fun up two flights of stairs.

She turned, awkwardly, and flagged down the bartender. "I really hope you still have vacancy," she told him once he arrived.

He chuckled beneath his luxuriant moustache. "Don't worry, miss, I'll get you a key."

She traded the key for the appropriate amount of coins, making a mental note to hold Zuko to his sake charge, but then she half-walked, half-staggered across the crowded tavern and up the considerably more deserted stairs. The third storey was quiet, if only relatively, and she minutely adjusted Zuko's position for the sixth time as she fumbled the key into the lock.

The door swung inwards, revealing a modestly furnished room with a narrow bed, small table with an unlit lantern, and a chair. Grumbling to herself about the inconveniences of drunken friends, Katara made it to the bed and slowly lowered her charge in the near darkness. Moonlight sifted through the sole window, and while it wasn't exactly bright, her eyes adjusted soon enough to the point where it was enough to see by.

"S-stay," Zuko mumbled, his eyes only open halfway, his scarred one considerably closer to fully shut.

"I will," Katara promised. She didn't think it advisable to just leave him in this state, and while the wooden chair provided an uncomfortable alternative, she wasn't about to climb into bed with him. One, he reeked of alcohol, and two…well, it just wouldn't be wise with her head in this muddled state.

She was in the process of standing when his hand caught onto her wrist with surprising accuracy and strength. She glanced down at him, wondering if he had been faking for some reason, but saw that he was as addled as ever.

"Wait," he protested, almost childlike. "Stay…"

"Okay, okay," she conceded, lowering herself to the mattress's edge once more. His grip loosened but did not retreat, even as his eyelids completed their descent. She reached over with her free hand and delicately moved some of his hair from his face and trailed her fingertips along his cheek in a purely comforting manner—or so she told herself.

But she couldn't help wondering if Jet's words held any merit…because she had blurred the line before…

But no. That was ridiculous. This was Zuko.

Even in the privacy of her head she had to admit that didn't make much sense.


	11. onze

A/N: Again thanks to **Avatar Spirit .net** for complete transcripts.

* * *

_**Beyond the Rising Sun**_

_**xi.**_

Katara woke up with a terrible crick in her neck. Grumbling, she massaged the area ruefully and slowly orientated herself with her surroundings. For just a moment, she was bewildered to find that she was slouched against a wall in a hallway—but then she remembered all that had happened, both with Zuko and Jet, and she groaned and let her head tilt back against the wall.

She liked to think she was a mature, sensible person. Apparently those attributes had failed her.

What had she been thinking with Jet, anyway? Of course, that was just the problem: she _hadn't_ been thinking. She never had been capable of too much coherence around that boy; he had an unsettling ability to turn her mind into mush and allow dangerous things like hormones to take over all decisions. Having him come out of nowhere, back from the dead and as handsome and charming as ever, had not really helped her retain her composure, either.

And then there was Zuko. After dwelling on Jet's remarks for the long hours she remained awake in the Rusty Anchor's third floor corridor (she had more or less fled Zuko's room after the firebender had fallen asleep), she wanted to believe that the bounty hunter was just being spiteful or teasing or anything that would imply his points were false.

Because really, she hardly thought that she and Zuko could ever…that they could…it just seemed…

Giving herself a mental shake, Katara refocused mightily. This was all just distracting and stupid: what she needed to do now was support Zuko—unflinchingly and as a friend—during the search for his mother. She did not need to trouble herself with all sorts of distractions, especially those of the male variety.

"He's just my friend," she muttered aloud, eyes shut with the strength of her concentration, as if she could will the statement into truth.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that," Jet's suave voice observed.

Katara opened her eyes and slanted him a glare; he was swaggering down the hallway, all kitted up for the mission, straw bobbing casually on his lower lip. He was smirking, as usual, and he looked rather pointedly at the closed door across the hall from her.

"So, did Li kick you out? Or did you decide that you missed me instead?" he continued, hands arrogantly placed on his hips.

Resenting the power his greater height granted him, Katara rose a bit stiffly to her feet and folded her arms imperiously on her chest. "Hardly, Jet. I just…dropped something," she concluded lamely.

"Really," he said, his tone clearly implying he didn't believe her, but who would buy such a miserable lie? "Maybe you should get your eyes checked or something. I mean, if you can't find something for…wait, how long have you been out here?"

Sleeping but a few hours in a hallway had done nothing to improve her mood, and she snapped, "Just shut it, Jet! I don't…I don't want to deal—"

"With the reality that you want me so much more than that pompous Fire Lord?" he prompted with a dark chuckle. "Don't worry—I remember _exactly_ how you were sitting on me, so it'll be really easy to pick up where we left off."

She renewed her glare. "Look, would you forget last night ever happened? I _really_ don't want to deal with that…it's too…" She trailed off, apparently unable to conjure an appropriate adjective.

He studied her for a silent moment, his expression closing off. And then he shrugged, brushing past her. "Well, if you insist, I might be able to keep my mouth shut. But there'll be long days on this job, and boring nights around campfires, and who knows, I might let something slip sooner or later…"

Shame and embarrassment mixing unevenly with her exasperation, Katara caught onto Jet's sleeve, not allowing him to continue walking away. Despite the ice lacing her tone, there was a certain amount of pleading there as well.

"I don't expect you to do this out of the goodness of your heart, Jet. I just hoped that maybe you'd keep this between us. He doesn't need to know." I don't want him to know, she added in her head. I don't want him to think so poorly of me, to know how weak I really am…

Something hard glinted in his dark eyes, and for just an instant, his upper lip curled disdainfully. But then the moment passed, and he clamped his teeth down hard on the stalk of grass and pulled his arm from her grasp. "Whatever you want, Katara dearest," he replied, the sarcasm only thinly veiled.

She swallowed with difficulty—that probably had not been the best request, seeing as it had made it seem like she was ashamed of him…but wasn't she? Well, more of how she acted around him, but he wouldn't interpret it that way. She had most likely just fanned the fires instead of dousing them. At the very least, she had wounded his ego, and perhaps he cared enough to even scrape his heart…

The door opened, revealing a considerably more sober but also considerably more hung-over Zuko.

Katara realized her hand was still extended towards Jet, who hadn't moved, and she retracted it as nonchalantly as she could. The bounty hunter snorted, muttering something derisive under his breath, and sauntered off down the hallway, disappearing into the stairwell.

"Morning, Zuko," she ventured, smiling crookedly.

He simply stared at her. He had evidently tidied up, his clothes straight and his hair brushed, but something about his expression still suggested he was rather rumpled. He glanced away briefly, following Jet's back, and then his amber eyes met hers again. She winced inwardly at the look in there.

He grunted an acknowledgment to her greeting and added after a lengthy moment, "So how's your boyfriend?"

Her heart stumbled off its beat—had he overheard…? "Z-Zuko, he's not…we're not…"

He scowled, stepping into the hall and shutting the door behind him; apparently the alcohol had wiped his memory of her taking him to this room, but she didn't know if it would be any help if he did recall. "Oh, I'm sorry for assuming the best," he sneered. "I wasn't going to jump right to 'random fling', but if that's what you want to call it—"

"Stop it! It wasn't like that at all—nothing happened!" she protested, aware of several gaping holes in that phrase.

There was something terribly tired in his face, something that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion. "Nothing happened, eh? _Something_ happened with Jet that you made him promise not to tell. I hate to jump to conclusions, but I really thought better of you than that, Katara."

She flushed horribly at the implication. "Zuko, no, we didn't—it wasn't like that…" She trailed off, and then dredged strength from rising internal anger, pinning him with a fierce glare. "It's not like it'd be any business of yours, anyway!" she shot back. "You're not my boyfriend, Aang's not my boyfriend, Jet's not my boyfriend—_no one in the whole world is my boyfriend! _I really should be able to do whatever the hell I please without…without…and you have no right to pass judgment on me, anyway!" she said, changing tracks mid-sentence, her eyes narrowing to icy slits. "Spirits, what is it with everyone and judging me? First Aang thinks I'm becoming some sort of evil monster, and now you're accusing me of acting like a cheap whore!"

She threw up her hands in an overly dramatic gesture, in a fell mood now. "Well, I'm _so_ _fucking sorry_ that I'm not _perfect!_" she yelled, holding his gaze with her own heated one for an instant longer before she stormed off in the direction Jet had taken, en route for the bounty hunters' rendezvous.

Zuko waited until she had vanished from sight, and then he slammed his fist into the door frame, leaving a scorch mark on the lintel. After a heartbeat, he pounded his hand against the wood again for good measure, now denting it as well. He had feared—in an amorphous kind of way—that something would come of Jet's appearance, but he would never have dared to believe that he'd think such dishonorable things about her, and he would never have accused her at all if he hadn't heard the two of them talking about it, whatever _it_ ultimately was.

Agni, it was just that he'd begun to hope…

It always came down to hope. How he _hated_ the word.

Locking his teeth together to swallow the flames longing to burst forth, he stalked down the hallway, unable to derive any comfort from the fact that his journey was finally starting.

* * *

Katara didn't so much as glance at Zuko when the Fire Lord finally appeared outside; she kept her gaze fixed on Jun, who was idly petting her shirsu's sensitive nose. Her crew was already mounted on ostrich-horses, and Katara also ignored the fact that she was likely to share with Jet, as Smellerbee and Longshot had claimed one for themselves.

"Nyla was able to get a scent off that hair," Jun said as Zuko walked up, apparently intent on keeping this businesslike. "Unfortunately, she wasn't able to get a whiff anywhere around here. Her nose is very, very good; if your mother, or at least this scent, were anywhere in the Fire Nation, Nyla should have gotten something, at the very least. This seems to imply that the Fire Lady is elsewhere, so we will need to cross over to the Earth Kingdom."

Zuko nodded dully, his previous excitement forgotten in the wake of the morning's events.

"I have also drawn up a contract, setting up the arrangements and price," Jun continued, proffering a scroll.

He received it wordlessly and scanned the contents. Katara saw his jaw clench—if it could tighten any further without all the bones splintering into shards—and felt a brief pang of concern. She should be over there, advising him, encouraging him, not over here wallowing in anger and self-loathing…but she couldn't make her feet move, and it's not as if he had asked for her help, anyway.

So? some part of her mind hissed. Does he _have_ to ask? Shouldn't you stop being so petty? He only said what you were thinking about yourself, anyway.

Her teeth sank into her lower lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood, and she forced her eyes to refocus in the completely opposite direction.

"What's this…_dead or alive_ clause?" he inquired slowly, raising steely eyes to Jun's.

The bounty hunter shrugged ambivalently. "Generally that's where you indicate your preference. In this situation, though, given the time the Fire Lady's been missing…it's more of a guarantee on our part that we will get paid as long as we find her, in one state or the other."

"She's not dead," he said quietly but firmly. The parchment scroll crumpled and wrinkled where his fingers flexed.

"Just a precaution," Jun dismissed. "You'll notice the fee below, taking into account added expenses, such as the fare to the Earth Kingdom, and also a general increase for additional time involved."

Zuko just stared at the bounty hunter for a long moment, his expression wooden, and then he repeated, "She's not dead. Now I'll need to return briefly to the palace to get my affairs in order and let the High Minister know that he'll have to take over in the interim. I will also set aside the funds for this in such a way that if I do not return with you personally, you will still be able to receive your payment. Agreed?"

"Very acceptable, Fire Lord," Jun conceded. "If you would just sign the contract and give it back as soon as possible…"

"Of course," he agreed, and he brushed past her. Katara held her breath as he approached, still not looking at him directly, and she was surprised to be addressed. "I'll bring your pack," he told her, and while it was not the most elaborate statement ever, she was still a little bewildered he'd bothered saying anything to her at all.

"Oh," was all she managed to reply before he'd continued on his way. She waited an uncertain interval and then glanced over her shoulder, but he had already disappeared into the bustle of the harbor. Beneath the anger smoldering in her chest, something closer to hurt intensified from a dull ache to a sharp, pervasive pain.

She swallowed against it, feeling the pressure on her lungs, and endeavored not to care.

* * *

Zuko had had some struggle convincing the Fire Nation Council that he didn't want any bodyguards accompanying him and that he also didn't want to take up any resources—hence the fact that they were now aboard an Earth Kingdom trade ship and not one of the converted Fire Navy warships. Something must have shown in his eyes, though, because the ministers had caved quickly enough, apparently unwilling to fight their young ruler when he appeared to be so troubled, or simply unwilling to provoke his famous temper.

He had all but fled the city, and he couldn't bite back a lingering sensation of guilt. Here he was, the Fire Lord, the sole sovereign, and he was abandoning his people. He knew it wasn't quite like that, that he had left them in more than capable hands, and that he wouldn't be gone all that long (hopefully), but his sense of duty still prodded him pointedly.

He shouldn't be leaving, he really shouldn't…but then Ozai never should have been such a bastard and his mother never should have disappeared and…and _everything_ that had ever happened just should not have happened.

Well, he admitted in some quieter, less tormented corner of his mind, maybe not everything. Some good had come of this avalanche of events, of this history's culmination, such as his friendship with…with…

He rose to his feet, stepping carefully over a sprawled man who had apparently decided that sleeping was the best way to pass the time—there admittedly were not many entertaining alternatives below decks on a very crowded ship. He had inwardly meditated the entire time he had been at the palace and had continued during the first part of the ocean crossing, and he felt considerably calmer, no longer prone to flying apart at the seams. He wanted to find her now, maybe apologize, or just talk to her, or something. He didn't like being at odds with her; it was too…familiar, somehow.

Too much like they were true enemies again.

The look on her face when they had traded blade-like words in the hall…he had seen something of that expression before, only a handful of times: alongside the river with the pirates, in the Northern Spirit Oasis, in Ba Sing Se's catacombs, in the Western Air Temple, and so recently on the beach of Kyoshi Island…

It was a closed-off quality, he realized grimly. As if she had erected walls behind those cobalt irises with as much purpose to keep him out as to keep herself in. Without saying a word, she had drawn a line in the sand, a barrier that screamed so silently _We're not friends!_

She had hurt him, yes, with her romantic affairs with Jet. But she had not done that for the purpose of antagonizing him; whatever her reasons, she had not acted out of malicious aforethought. His reaction, however reflexive, had been intended to strike her weak points. He had been trying to hurt her, to make her experience just a fraction of his (unjustified) betrayal.

It made sense in his head now, it did…the question was, could he make her understand?

The wind ruffled his hair as he emerged on deck, and he narrowed his eyes against the bite of the spray, not wanting any moisture to blur his vision. The ship was crowded enough as it was, and it would be easy for her to avoid him; he hadn't seen her in the lower decks, though, and as a waterbender, she had a tendency to be drawn to open seas…

"Something tells me she won't talk to you, even if you do find her."

Zuko reminded himself that killing Jet would not be a good thing, at least in the big picture. He leveled a glare at the former Freedom Fighter and snapped in lieu of murder, "I didn't ask you."

Jet shrugged. "Sorry I thought I could help, Li." He added with a bit more of a smirk, "Wanna raid the captain's galley? For old time's sake?"

"No," the Fire Lord replied bluntly, already turning away. He didn't want to talk to the other boy; he didn't want to even _see_ him. All it was was a reminder that Katara always chose someone else. First the Avatar, then this bounty hunter…perhaps starting out as her archenemy was too big a hurdle to overcome. Perhaps he should cherish the friendship they had…or _had_ had.

"We're not together, ya know," Jet remarked idly, as if he were merely commenting on the weather.

Zuko bristled, even though Katara had said as much, and he found himself saying anyway, "That's not what it sounded like," with a definite growl in his tone.

Jet shrugged, pinching his straw tightly between thumb and forefinger to keep it from blowing away in the wind. "I suppose not." He chuckled and added, "That's not what it felt like, either."

The firebender's knuckles popped, and he desperately abandoned several methods of tearing Jet's limbs from his torso in favor of his usual mantra. _In and out, in and out, in and out. Just _breathe.

The bounty hunter feigned oblivion to Zuko's anger, as there was no way he could actually be unaware of the killing intent rolling off the Fire Lord. "'Course, after about five minutes, she was all like, _Why don't we talk, get a real relationship? _And that's not really my style," he continued to muse, as if he were only working things out for himself. "Still, it was fun while it lasted."

Zuko managed to open his mouth without spouting flames. "Why are you telling me this?" he demanded, his tone somewhat strained.

Jet twirled the stalk absently. "I saw the look on her face earlier today, when she came outside at the Rusty Anchor." He pursed his lips, and the straw ceased spinning. "I didn't like it. Figured it had something to do with you, since it had all along. Besides, I think the best way for her to clear up the line is to blur it as quickly as possible, so I'd really prefer if you two got over each other so I can have her all to myself again without the random guilty shit on the side."

The firebender had a feeling something important was hidden amongst all that arrogant babble, and he frowned slightly as he tried to fish it out. "Are you trying to say…?" he finally ventured, however incompletely.

Jet shrugged and popped the straw back in his mouth, tilting it up with the pressure of his lips. "I dunno, Li. What am I trying to say?" Smirking again in his trademark—and to Zuko, very annoying—fashion, he tucked his hands in his pockets and wandered away, merging into the passengers crowding the deck.

Zuko remained where he was, no less conflicted than he had been before. Sure, now he knew that nothing _extreme_ had happened, but something still had, and regardless of whatever Jet had been hinting at, that still held weight. Maybe he should apologize, try to patch things up, but…the fact that she had chosen Jet, however briefly, still rankled, still hurt.

He would let this be. As he had told Aang not very long ago, Uncle Iroh always said to let the waters settle before going for a swim. Maybe, in a day or two, when tempers had cooled and wounds had scabbed over, they could pick up where they left off.

Hopefully.

And there was that Agni-damned _hope_ again.

* * *

Three days later, the Fire Lord, waterbending master, and bounty hunters had only just unloaded from the Earth Kingdom trade ship when Nyla suddenly keened, a high-pitched, drawn-out sound too strange to be a howl.

Zuko shot the monstrous animal a look and then turned his gaze to its mistress. "Jun, what's that mean?" he demanded, still sufficiently riled by the lengthening silence between himself and Katara to forget his manners and speak rudely. Every time he had gathered the courage to seek her out, he had always come across Jet first, and the hurt had always been sufficient enough to bury his more logical side.

Jun mounted the shirsu agilely, whip gripped in one hand and the other extended towards him. "Up you come, Fire Lord—it means she's caught the scent."

Zuko balked, staring at her in shocked disbelief, but then he scrambled up as swiftly as possible, adrenaline thrumming through his veins. It wasn't possible, was it? Had they actually found his mother's trail? Would he finally see her again?

Could it really be true…?

He was so distracted that he had no time to notice, much less experience any jealousy, that Jet hauled Katara up behind him on an ostrich-horse; he barely had time to grab hold of the shirsu's saddle—since grabbing hold of Jun did not seem like the wisest idea—before the beast lurched off, claws churning the dirt into dust as it tore through the harbor.

People scattered, yelling and screaming, as the bounty hunters and their mounts cut a swath through the midst of the bustling market, and a few even threw bits of merchandise, largely overripe fruits. They continued undeterred, though, despite Katara's fleeting sense of déjà vu when her and Jet's steed bowled over and thoroughly destroyed an unfortunate merchant's cabbage cart.

And then they were out of the village and into the forests, trees whizzing past as the shirsu fairly flew with its speed. Zuko had ridden the beast before, and as he recalled, it was not the most pleasant manner of travel; it galloped in a vaguely horse-like manner, but with considerable more undulation of its body, which ultimately left Zuko with a very sore behind.

He trusted Jun to drive the creature as best she could, but he still couldn't swallow the panicked desire to duck as the shirsu careened too close to low-hanging branches or other obstacles just waiting to pluck him from the mad animal's back. The terrain beneath them wasn't even, either, all little hills and valleys that transformed a straight run into a series of leaps and bounds; occasionally the shirsu would be hanging in midair before reconnecting with the hard ground in a jolting motion that nearly shoved Zuko's stomach up his throat and certainly jarred his lowest vertebrae into a single piece.

So it was with several different sources of relief that Nyla finally skidded to a stop, claws raising sparks as they dug into smooth cobblestones. Finally feeling his insides cease dancing, Zuko weakly released his white-knuckled grip on the saddle and took stock of their surroundings. They were within an enclosing wall—as neither Jun nor Nyla had any issues with trivial matters like walls, which were there to keep lesser mortals out—that appeared to be some sort of paved outer courtyard; along two of the walls were gates, one the entrance that they had blithely bypassed, and the other leading to the building proper.

Zuko frowned. This place looked awfully familiar…

As if on cue, Jet and Katara rode into his line of vision, and he saw the waterbender twisting about, absorbing their environment. "Hey," she said, matching Zuko's frown with her own, "we've been here before. I mean, all of us. This is that abbey where you tracked Aang after capturing Sokka and I," she informed Jun and Zuko.

Jun scowled. "How could I forget? After you bent all that perfume at poor Nyla, it took her a week to recover and a month before she'd track anyone for me."

"So why the hell are we here?" Jet asked, reining his ostrich-horse to a halt.

Katara slipped from the creature's back, brow furrowed in puzzlement, but then her expression smoothed with comprehension before it ultimately fell. "They make perfume—that's what the shirsu tracked. Lady Ursa must have used some that they make here, and that must've been the strongest scent left on her hair."

Zuko, who hadn't understood the situation enough to even begin hoping, felt his chest tighten with disappointment anyway. Apparently he could go straight to feeling miserable. "So this is a dead end?" he said tonelessly.

Just then, a small contingent of nuns emerged from the main structure, all of them warily eyeing the newcomers; it seemed they had not forgotten the run-in with the shirsu four years ago. The foremost of the group, clearly the leader given the difference in her garb, addressed the bounty hunters at large.

"What help can we provide, travelers?" she asked in a rather motherly tone: strong yet soft.

Zuko waved one hand aimlessly. "Nothing, nothing—we're sorry to have troubled you."

"No, wait," Katara insisted, striding over to the nuns and addressing the abbess. "I'm Sifu Katara, the Avatar's waterbending teacher, and that's Fire Lord Zuko," she explained, pointing to the firebender. "We're trying to find the former Fire Lady, Ursa, and we tracked her here with a lock of her hair and the capabilities of Jun's shirsu," she continued, gesturing when appropriate. "It seems that Lady Ursa used some of your perfume…I'd like to see if the shirsu can pinpoint the specific fragrance, and then perhaps you could help by telling us who buys that particular one. Sound good?"

Zuko blinked as the nuns discussed the proposal briefly amongst themselves—they probably were leery of letting such a massive animal into their abbey, with good reason. He had thought Katara held some grudge against him; she certainly hadn't attempted to talk to him the entire crossing. But here she was, helping him anyway.

He realized, not for the first time, that Katara was a bit of a bigger person than that.

Feeling something akin to a faint smile curve his lips, he dismounted Nyla rather gracelessly and shuffled to the waterbender's side, stiff from the wild ride. He hesitated for a moment, but then he nudged her shoulder with his elbow and said softly, the sincere gratitude palpable in his tone, "Thank you."

She glanced at him sidelong, and for a painful instant, he thought she would dismiss the gesture and simply look away. But she shrugged instead and replied, "That's what I'm here for, Zuko. That's why I signed up for this whole thing."

He nodded vaguely and ventured, "I'm…sorry."

Almost imperceptibly, she tensed, but then her frame relaxed. "Forget it. It was just a lot of stupidity on both our parts. Apparently being an idiot is catching," she added with more humor and a hint of a grin.

He chuckled softly, acutely aware that a weight had lifted from his shoulders and his conscience. "I suppose it is," he agreed. "Still, though, I should never have—"

"I said _forget it_ for a reason," she chided, and she waved one of her hands. "Water under the bridge and all. Oh…" She refocused on the nuns, who had come out of their huddle, and asked, "Did you reach a decision?"

The abbess nodded, bowing slightly. "Yes, Sifu. We will allow this…animal into our abbey, providing that its mistress keeps careful watch. We do not want any undue damage," she explained, clearly recalling the causalities inflicted on the building during the shirsu's last chaotic visit.

"Longshot and I will wait out here with the horses," Smellerbee volunteered, and her companion merely nodded his acquiescence to her proposal.

Jun shrugged agreeably and turned her attention to her remaining crewmate. "Jet, hold onto Nyla's saddle on the other side. She gets a little feisty in enclosed spaces, and we're not to cause any problems," she instructed, with a rather pointed look at the abbess.

"Gotcha," Jet replied breezily, ducking around the beast and hooking his arm through the stirrup.

Jun retained hold of the reins, one hand placed comfortingly on Nyla's head, and she guided her mount forward. The nuns parted to let them through, closing up to follow in their wake, with Zuko and Katara trailing in the rear.

"Normally we don't divulge client information," the abbess informed them. "But we are aware of the Fire Nation's royalty, and we sympathize with your quest to find your mother," she directed at Zuko, who nodded in grateful acknowledgement. "I must tell you, though, that I have not seen any such person in our abbey."

Zuko grimaced at such news, but he was distracted from his dire thoughts by Katara's fingers weaving through his. He glanced at her, pleased but perplexed, but she didn't seem to take any notice of the action or his reaction, instead watching the shirsu slink onwards with a faintly pensive expression.

Drawing strength from her warm grasp, the firebender paused with the rest as Nyla scratched at a heavy wooden door, and they all turned as one to look at the abbess.

"The cellars," the woman explained. "This is where we store the perfume. I am not sure if your animal will fit inside the staircase, though."

Jet pushed the door open, and Jun peered inside. "Doesn't look like it," she remarked. "Nyla's getting skittish; the source must be near. Are the canisters sealed?" She waited for the abbess to nod and then continued, "Opening them one at a time should be enough for my shirsu's nose, even from up here."

"Very well," the abbess agreed, and she and her nuns squeezed around the blind creature and filed down the stairs; one of them grabbed a torch from a sconce, and then they disappeared into the shadowy cellar. There were sounds of earthenware being moved, and at intervals, Jun would interpret Nyla's reaction to the scents floating up from the subterranean room.

And then the shirsu keened once more, its hair standing on end in a ripple of excitement, and Jun called down, "That's the one!"

Footfalls echoed on the stairs, and Jet and Jun maneuvered the shirsu away from the doorway, giving the nuns room to exit. They spilled back into the corridor, and the abbess came from the rear, holding a tiny pot in her hands no bigger than Zuko's fist.

Katara's fingers tightened on his, and he stared blankly at the unremarkable vessel. "That's it?" he asked, incredulous. When he had been here four years ago, he distinctly recalled that Katara had bent huge vats of the stuff, and he experienced an unsettlingly foreboding at this perfume's small quantity.

"This is it," the abbess agreed, proffering the pot.

Zuko slipped his hand from the waterbender's and accepted the small clay container, twisting off the tightly sealed lid and gingerly lifting it to his face. He inhaled, and the familiarity of the scent nearly bowled him over.

_"Look at me, Mama! I'm feeding the turtle-ducks!"_

_"Good job, Zuko. They look so happy! Here, can I help you?"_

It was something sweet, but not cloying…subtle and soft, with just a hint of spice. He closed his eyes, memories aching deep in his chest as he took another sniff.

_"Mom?"_

_"Zuko, please, my love, listen to me. Everything I've done, I've done to protect you. Remember this, Zuko: no matter how things may seem to change, never forget who you are."_

His eyes burned, and he squeezed them tighter—there was no way he was going to cry with Jet looking on. He tried to slip into his mantra, but he couldn't remember how it went, only his mother's voice echoing again and again in his head, forever repeating the last words she'd ever said to him.

_Never forget who you are listen to me remember this never forget who you are never forget_

"Zuko?"

Katara's voice, concerned, her hand gentle on his shoulder.

He closed the lid, twisting it into place with a bit more force than necessary. Taking a deep breath of non-perfumed air as subtly as he could, he willed the tears from his eyes and raised his head. "It's hers, alright," he confirmed, thankful that his voice came out steadily. "But…" He hefted the tiny pot, properly studying it for the first time. "Why's there so little of it? Is this all you have?"

The abbess nodded. "Perfumes are like clothes, my lord: they come and go with the times. This one used to be very popular, but that was over a decade ago. We chiefly exported to Ba Sing Se, but there were a few wealthy patrons in the Fire Nation as well, apparently including your mother. Now, though, the demand has all but disappeared, and that is all we keep on hand for the few customers we have."

Zuko rubbed his thumb absently along the shallow grooves in the clay. "Who are these customers?"

She looked apologetic. "None of them would be your mother, my lord. There is an old man who buys it for his wife, and they live on the coast quite a ways south of here, and there are a pair of women who live in one of the nearby forest towns, and there is a young girl, probably a few years your junior, who comes from a tiny village in the nearest mountains. But that is all."

"We could investigate," Katara offered, watching his visage carefully. "Not the old man, but certainly we could visit the town in the forest and the one in the mountains."

"To what point, for what purpose?" Zuko replied dully, something hoarse and raw riding the edges of his words. "Those women aren't her, the abbess said so herself. They're just women who share her outdated tastes." He shook his head despondently and handed the perfume back to the abbess. "No, this was all just a wild goose chase. Maybe the shirsu can pick another scent off Mom's hair, or maybe we should just go home."

"Go home?" Katara echoed, incredulous. "You're suggesting we give up? Oh, hell no. We did this much and got this far, and you've sure as hell waited long enough. We _are not_ stopping here, understand? We're seeing through this until we have no leads left!"

Zuko stared at her, that broken quality still lingering in his eyes behind the surprise, and she turned to the abbess, realizing he wasn't in any state to be helpful. "Madam, please. Would you give us directions to these two villages?"

Appearing somewhat doubtful at the information's worth but still sympathetic to their plight, the abbess related her information, even going so far as to have one of her sisters fetch a map, which she marked and handed over. The two benders and the bounty hunters left the abbey then, the Fire Lord still steeped in desolation.

Katara glanced at Zuko, judged he remained unfit for conversation, and said to Jun, "I don't suppose we really require your services anymore. You were very helpful, though."

Jun arched one elegant eyebrow, one of her hands stroking Nyla's neck; the shirsu was positively purring at being outside once more. "I don't know about that. I see jobs through to the end, and so far we haven't found our target. Should these two leads come up short, you may want to try using my Nyla again; as the Fire Lord suggested, there might be other, subtler scents to pick up and follow. Plus, it's more profitable to stick with it for the long haul."

The waterbender worried her lip, glancing at Jet, but the former Freedom Fighter was conferring with Smellerbee and Longshot, and he did not seem too terribly inclined to stir up any trouble. And since she and Zuko had gotten back on even footing, it wouldn't be that much of a hassle to have the rogue around.

She conceded with a shrug. "If you want. We'd be grateful for any further assistance. Now then…" she began, studying the borrowed map, "it seems like the mountain village is the closer of the two, not too far to the northeast…"

* * *

It had already been late afternoon by the time the company had reached the abbey, and they were forced to make camp for the night. The bounty hunters all bedded down in record time, but the benders remained awake. Katara sat on her sleeping bag, idly manipulating a tiny stream of water, and watched Zuko. He stood a dozen feet off, his arms hanging limply at his sides and his head tilted back, observing the stars.

"We're going to find her," she finally promised, dispelling her element back into the air.

He turned his head in her direction, but all the shadows hid his expression; normally his wordless reaction, coupled with his lying down and at least feigning sleep, would have left her in the dark as to his mood. But there was no mistaking this: he was drained to his dregs where hope was concerned.

She studied his unmoving form, too still to be truly sleeping, and prayed fervently to all the spirits she knew that this would turn out in his favor. Perhaps, selfishly, she wanted this to succeed as well; she and Zuko were close, so close, and despite her misgivings, she felt the line blurring from existence more and more with each passing moment. She had loved him as a friend for years, and she supposed it wasn't that difficult to take that final, irrevocable step.

And even if she and Zuko never became…whatever that would be, finding Ursa would still have the same weight. The former Fire Lady could fulfill the role of a mother again—not _her_ mother, never Kya, but still a warm, maternal presence, someone to discuss fears and dreams and everyday trivialities with. Someone to lean on, so that it was not ultimately Katara that everyone looked to, not this eighteen-year-old girl who sometimes so desperately just wanted to be an eighteen-year-old girl.

They had all lost their childhoods, but Ursa could, perhaps, help bring that same safe sense of dependence back, and maybe she could even ease the ache of long-open wounds.

With all these thoughts whirling through her mind, Katara consequently slept poorly, but she disguised her displeasure when morning came, aware there were far more important things afoot. Zuko didn't look like he had slept at all, either, and his body was so frightfully tense that she could actually see him trembling whenever he ceased pacing.

Aside from a comforting squeeze of his hand with hers, though, she could offer him no more reassurance, as he was obviously eager to get moving—but at the same time, so blatantly dragging his heels, trapped in a dichotomy between knowing and not knowing and fearful of what tipping the scales away from ignorance would bring.

The relatively brief journey to the mountain village went as smoothly as could expected; the company rode in silence, a quality that seemed glaringly out of place except where Longshot was concerned. But as the sun reached its highest point in the sky, sending bright streams of light through the leafy canopy and casting dappled shadows on their skin, the group reached the village.

After a steady uphill climb all morning, they encountered a hidden vale nestled between two arms of the mountains. Trees crowded thick and close in a lush but not suffocating manner, and the simple houses ringed a clearing that was more or less rectangular in shape; there could not be more than two dozen buildings, and the people occupying the clearing had to be the entire population.

Unsurprisingly, the bounty hunters' arrival caused quite a stir; this little village rarely saw visitors, let alone such exotic ones. The citizens shied away as the three beasts emerged from the tree line, giving the new arrivals a wide, wide berth.

Katara dismounted, stepping forward a few paces and glancing back at the bounty hunters and Zuko. "This shouldn't take too long. We'll just ask them about the perfume, okay? And let's be as nice as possible about it, too," she added, though for whose benefit, it remained unclear.

Zuko didn't make any sort of acknowledgment except to slip off Nyla, and the others likewise were silent, with the exception of Jet. After securing his steed to a low-hanging branch, he clapped Katara on the shoulder and remarked airily, "Don't fret, my dear Katara. I'll try not to flirt _too_ shamelessly."

Laughing at his own gall, Jet slipped his hands into his pockets and ambled forward, oozing nonchalance as he approached the tentative townsfolk. The waterbender merely spared him a brief glare before she eyed Zuko again. The Fire Lord simply stood for a second, his gaze blank and detached, and then he shuffled after the former Freedom Fighter, none of Jet's swagger in his heavy gait.

Katara worried her lower lip, but eventually she followed them into the midst of the makeshift marketplace, trying to appear as disarming as possible. She had only spoken with a handful of people when Jet's voice rose clearly above the swell of conversation.

"Hey, Katara. Over here."

She didn't bother to reply, only slipping through the village's inhabitants in the direction of his voice. She found him easily enough; it wasn't as if there were an overwhelming number of people to confuse him with. He was standing in front of a house which was fronted with a fairly permanent-looking stall; she approached him where he waited in the shade of the awning, balancing his weight against the counter on his hip, his arms folded loosely on his chest.

The vendor was a young girl, roughly Katara's age back during the Avatar's quest, and she looked torn between being flattered by Jet's attention and on guard about it. Upon seeing the waterbender's approach, her expression tended more openly towards the latter.

"This is her?" Katara asked Jet, remembering that the abbess had said the customer was a teenage girl.

He nodded, and before she could protest, he loosely grabbed her arm and pulled her in close, his lips nearly brushing her ear. "She admitted to buying it, said it was for herself," he revealed, his other hand moving up to twine casually in her hair. "But she's not wearing it…curious, eh?"

Katara resisted the urge to roll her eyes—or better yet, hit him—for this over-the-top display; would it have been so terrible just to tell her that like any normal person and not beat about the bush and play lovers? She eased somewhat out of his embrace, determined to ignore his idiocy in lieu of focusing on the apparently-lying girl.

The girl glanced between them shiftily, her whole stance radiating unease, and before Katara could speak, she said, "Look, I don't know what the big deal is. It's just perfume. That's not a crime, right?"

"No, it's not," the waterbender agreed.

"Then why all the questions?" the girl continued, frowning. "I didn't steal it, and I certainly didn't steal it from you. I can't imagine why you'd come all the way here just to bug me about it."

"We're looking for someone," Katara allowed, batting Jet's hand away when he tried—very suavely, it must be said—to snake his arm around her waist. "She uses the same perfume that you purchased. We were merely wondering if you were a delivery girl, you see—if you buy it for someone else."

The girl paused, poorly attempting to disguise her disquiet, and from the way Jet nodded ever so slightly in her periphery, Katara knew his initial questions had provoked this reaction before. She looked exactly like someone who was hiding something, and Katara decided to play their trump card.

"You're not wearing it," she pointed out coolly. "So who did you buy it for?"

The girl's eyes darted between them, as if she were actively seeking an escape. "L-look, I don't have to answer your stupid questions!" she protested, retreating further into the shade of the awning. "I'll bring the Elder over, and you'll have to deal with him."

"Fine," Katara conceded with a wave of one hand. "We'll talk to the Elder."

The girl stared at them, still frozen like a deer startled by a hunter, and then she bolted in much the same fashion, slipping through the gathered people with all the ease of a shadow.

Jet sighed and lazily plucked the straw from his mouth. "Nice one, darling. Involve the authorities."

"Stop with the pet names," she growled, not even looking at him. "And that girl's scared; she's hiding something, and maybe this Elder will be more inclined to reveal why. It's like the whole place is sworn to secrecy or something."

He twirled the grass contemplatively. "Little towns like this can be strange that way. I've seen a lot of them, and they usually aren't too predisposed towards outsiders. They're really a bunch of xenophobes, and now we saunter in, all Water Tribe and Fire Nation…really, I'm not surprised they're acting this way," he concluded in his usual languid drawl.

She nodded, absorbing that viewpoint, and then placed her hands on her hips impatiently. "Ugh, what's taking so long? It's not as if she'd have to go very far!"

"Beats me," Jet replied, and then he smirked wickedly. "I'm sure we could find _some_ way to pass the time, though…"

Jaw clenching, she made no response to his implication.

He replaced the straw in his mouth, still smirking. "If the setting's too unfamiliar, I could always sit on the counter…then you'd be able to get on top of me, and—"

"Would you shut it already?" she snapped, her patience entirely gone, and she slanted him a glare that was as frosty and icy as it was searing and hot. If that didn't make him hold his tongue, she wasn't sure _what_ would.

He just chuckled and refolded his arms. "My my, so defensive. I wasn't aware that you wanted to make it so badly with his lordship King Li."

Jet was saved an early if well-deserved grave by the arrival of the Elder, who was practically being shoved along—except that was hardly respectful and so a bit exaggerated—by the original girl, who kept looking at Jet and Katara like it was four years ago and they'd just announced they were Fire Nation. The movement of this particular man had apparently caused quite a stir, as everyone, including the other bounty hunters and Zuko, drifted over in his wake.

The Fire Lord was frowning deeply, and he slipped to Katara's side, sending her a curious glance before he gave his attention to the apparent leader of the village.

"I am the Elder, Gensu," the man explained in a somewhat reedy voice. He was indeed old, his skin worn wrinkled and leathery by the sun and the years, but his eyes were bright and sharp beneath bushy silver brows, and it was clear that this was not a man who would be pushed around.

"I'm Sifu Katara, the Avatar's waterbending teacher," she said. Sometimes, especially now, she felt bad dropping Aang's title to garner herself favors, but it almost always had a pacifying effect on people. They all assumed that if you were affiliated with the Avatar, you must be a good person.

As she had hoped, Gensu seemed to recognize her standing, as he adopted a slightly more docile expression, even though he had never appeared particularly hostile in the first place. He bowed shallowly and slowly in deference, and she returned the favor; when they stood straight again, his moss-green eyes focused unrelentingly on hers.

"What brings the Avatar's friend and waterbending master to this humble village?" he inquired, although he continued swiftly, indicating that was more pleasantry than anything. "I understand you have been asking questions of young Sala concerning her choice in perfume. May I ask why you have troubled her so?"

Katara groaned inwardly at the man's wording, but she only said, "I am sorry if we have upset any of your people. We are merely trying to locate one of our group's mother," she explained, gesturing back towards Zuko, who was leaning against the stand with Jet and looking rather removed from present activities. "She has been missing for eleven years, you see, and she happens to use the same perfume that—Sala, was it?—that Sala bought. That is all."

Gensu observed her shrewdly for an uncomfortable interval, and then his eyes slid to Zuko, who remained staring disenchantedly at the ground. At length, though, he declared, "I would speak to you, Sifu Katara, and the young man concerned, in private. If you would follow me…" He beckoned them with a wizened finger, and Katara waited for Zuko to pull even with her before she trailed after the Elder.

It seemed that he was not interested in the nearest venue for privacy, as he led them across the now-silent clearing and down to the end of town, where the only multiple-storey building stood. He opened the front door, standing aside to let them pass, and then closed it securely behind them. The place was simply furnished, as befitted such an isolated village dwelling, and the two benders remained standing.

Gensu walked past them and reclined at the low table, already having removed his sandals; now he sat cross-legged on a cushion, and he gestured to the space across from him. "Come, sit," he invited.

Pulling off their boots, the benders obeyed his instruction, Katara lounging considerably more than Zuko, who contrived to keep all his limbs ramrod straight while kneeling on the thin cushion.

"Tell me," Gensu said after scrutinizing them both in silence, "tell me who exactly you are looking for."

"My mother," Zuko replied bluntly, his voice somewhat raspy for disuse, and Katara blinked, surprised that he had spoken. "I am Fire Lord Zuko, and she is Lady Ursa. Tall, beautiful, black-haired and golden-eyed. She would be approximately forty years old, and she would have shown up in the last eleven years."

Gensu kept up his penetrating stare, although it possessed a more musing flavor now. And then, abruptly, he busied himself with rearranging the coaster-like tiles arrayed on the table, and for several minutes, there was only the gentle clink of pottery on wood.

"I do not know any woman by that name," he remarked at last, setting the last tile on the top of the newly-formed stack. "But I feel I must admit that I have encountered a woman matching her description, moreover a woman who has been quietly—and via a third party—buying the same perfume for the past nine years. I have vowed never to betray her wish for privacy, but your information is compelling."

"You've seen her?" Zuko blurted, except his voice was barely audible. "Is she…here…?"

The Elder paused again, perhaps weighing his loyalty to this woman who might be Ursa, and Katara was suddenly fed up with his see-sawing.

"Look, if the woman you know is Zuko's mother, then you have to tell us! His sister is very sick, and we need to find Lady Ursa!" It was practically true, but it still slipped easier from her lips than she would have thought. But Zuko's happiness was on the line here, and she wasn't about to let this man's sense of duty ruin everything.

Gensu's eyes snapped back to hers, and Katara knew she'd hit the nail of the head—there was too much truth betrayed in that instant. And he seemed to realize that she had realized, as he sighed softly and adjusted the position of the top tile.

"The woman I know has gone by Miri, and she has spoken of a daughter…and a son," he added, briefly looking back at Zuko, whose knuckles had whitened under the phenomenal pressure. "She has cared for all the village's children, indeed, as if they were her own, and there was always a lingering sadness about her, a regret not easily forgotten, even for a moment…" He trailed off with a slight shake of his head, and Katara experienced a foreboding sensation as his expression saddened.

"If Miri is Ursa, your mother," he addressed the firebender, "then…then there is something you must know. She has fallen ill; truly, this has been a slow sickness, and she has been ill for some time now."

Oh, no, Katara whispered inside, begged the spirits. Please no, don't say what I think you're going to say, don't…!

Gensu's face was apologetic as he revealed the final piece of this puzzle.

"She is…dying."


	12. douze

* * *

_**Beyond the Rising Sun**_

_**xii.**_

"She is…dying."

The world grew foggy, distant, numbly removed. Silence pushed in on Zuko's ears, muffling Katara's exclamation and Gensu's resulting reply. He managed to ascertain the gist, though—she was merely expressing the shock he was too stricken to vocalize.

Because this _couldn't_ be true…no, there was no way…Agni would not be so cruel…

_It could not be!_

Slowly, though, words drifted through his muddy hearing and anchored on something that continued functioning in his sagging mind.

"…be the wrong person," Katara was saying—no, was insisting. "You said yourself she didn't go by Ursa. Maybe it's not his mother at all. Really, you shouldn't go around saying things if—"

"Sifu, that is why I brought you to this house," Gensu interrupted with sympathetic patience. "The woman who calls herself Miri is upstairs; she has occupied my guest room for the duration of her stay. If…"

And Zuko stopped listening again, those few morsels of information delving deep into his consciousness and burning themselves into his bones. She was here, she was _here_…if it were her at all…

He grasped desperately at denial. That had to be it: Katara was right, Gensu had the wrong person. Because it was impossible for Ursa to be dying, just impossible. Now all he had to do was prove that the Elder was mistaken…he could do that, he could.

Without even recalling how his legs worked, Zuko scrambled to his feet, ignoring Katara's startled question, and dashed from the room into another. There was the stairway, and his blood pounded in his ears as surely as his feet pounded on the steps, except that the former was so much louder, deafeningly so. He experienced the world at once both fast and slow, so that even though it seemed to take years to reach the top of the stairs, by the time his foot achieved the landing, he had ascended in the blink of an eye.

There were only two doors. He plowed through the first one, saw that the room beyond was empty, and had turned and crossed to the other with such speed he made his head reel. But he didn't stop to allow it to settle, too driven by this frantic denial and this unrelenting fear of the absolute worst that clashed in his soul.

The door flew open so fast that it rebounded off the wall with a bang, and it nearly hit Zuko, who could barely summon the mental capacity to react in time. He caught it with a new depth of numbness as his heart screamed in agony in his suddenly too-small chest.

_No. _

_No!_

_NO!_

She had changed, yes—this woman in the bed was not the mother he remembered. Her fair skin had paled to a sickly, horrible bone-white and sunken against her delicate features, pulling too tightly on the bones and too tautly over her hollowed cheeks. Raven-black hair, still long, hung limply around her face, streaked across her forehead, and clung in clumps to her neck, the pillows. There were wrinkles and fine lines he did not recall, and even her long lashes looked too feeble where they rested, butterfly-like, on her now sharply defined cheekbones.

But there was still no mistaking her.

It was Ursa.

Zuko took in the scene in a moment, and in the next his legs were buckling beneath him, his knees giving out under the sudden pressure that thundered down on his body, on his mind. He struck the floor hard, slumping back on his heels and pressing stiff, straight arms to the cold boards. His head bowed into the cradle made by his hunched shoulders, and he screwed his eyes shut more tightly than his fingers curled into fists.

It could not be.

Except it was.

He drew a shuddering breath, his whole frame quaking with the effort, and he slowly raised veiled eyes to peer over the footboard and look at his sleeping mother. She had to be out of it if the banging of the door upon his arrival hadn't woken her.

Footfalls sounded on the stairs, and then they stopped mid-rhythm.

"Oh, Zuko…" Katara breathed. And then again: "Oh, spirits…Zuko, I…"

She must have realized there were no words, as she trailed off into silence. A sorrowful moment passed, and then her fingertips brushed against his hair. He jerked away reflexively, unwilling to experience any physical sensation. He kept hoping that maybe if he just forgot how to _feel_, somehow this would all disappear and he would _wake up_, because this had to be a nightmare, it had to be…

She retracted her hand, fingers curling back, and she gazed at his crumpled form with a pain in her chest comparable to the never-dulling ache of her own mother's death. She felt no anger or hurt at his dismissal; she only wished that there was something she could do to help him, knew from personal experience that there was not.

So she swallowed against everything rising in her throat and said instead, "I'll just…I'll go tell Jun and the rest that…they don't need to stay…because…because…well, I'll…I'll be…" She ceased trying, shaking her head and raising a hand to cover her mouth as she shuffled back into the hallway, her tread now heavy and slow on the stairs.

Zuko listened until it faded into silence, and then he inhaled a shallow breath that shook all the way down. His hands, still clenched into fists, pushed against the floor, and he managed to regain his feet, even if he did sway once erect. The room was sparsely furnished, and there was no chair for him to sit in, so he staggered to her bedside and slumped on the mattress. It bowed beneath his weight, but still his mother did not stir.

One of her hands rested above the blankets, and he reached for it tentatively, afraid to touch it and prove that she was real. His fingers hovered above too-white skin shot through with too-blue veins, but they lowered eventually, haltingly, and curled around hers. She was warm, and suddenly he realized, with a disproportionate amount of relief, that she was still alive, that maybe she was sick but why did that mean she was dying? Gensu was just being overly dramatic because nothing ever happened in this stupid, puny…

"Mom?" he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion. When she did not respond, he held her hand tighter and repeated, louder but still softly, "Mom? Mom, wake up. It's me, your son, Zuko. Mom?"

Her eyelids flickered several times before they properly opened, and even then they inched up slowly and with much blinking. She appeared to have some trouble focusing, her amber eyes rolling listlessly without an anchor. In that moment, Zuko realized in a distant sort of way that Azula very strongly resembled their mother; she could practically pass as a perfect copy. Perhaps it had something to do with that same not-entirely-present quality Ursa currently exuded.

But all of Zuko's being focused on the here and now when his mother's gaze sharpened with recognition. Her eyes widened, mouth falling slack, and before she could verbalize her reactions, he felt it in the surprisingly strong grip her fingers wielded on his.

"Zuko?" she whispered, searching his face as if searching for the nine-year-old boy she remembered. "My little Zuko? Is that…? You're so big now," she finally managed, a smile creasing her face, and he watched tears well up in her eyes even as he felt them gather in his. Her other hand lifted weakly, and he caught hold of it and guided it to his cheek, allowing her to caress the unscarred skin.

"Oh, my son," she murmured, combing through the fringe of his thick hair. "I never expected…oh, but you're here, and that's all…"

The sudden turn in the tide of emotions nearly burst Zuko's chest; joy—only somewhat tempered by reality—overwhelmed him, and he leaned in to embrace her as carefully as he could consciously manage, which was still fierce. She didn't seem to mind, though, her frail arms winding about him and hugging him just as tightly.

"Mom," he choked out, the tears now leaking from his eyes and dampening her hair. "Oh, thank Agni, Mom…I finally found you…I finally found you…"

"Yes, my love, I'm here," she reassured him, already assuming the role of comforter, even as her own tears spilled. She blinked several times in an attempt to clear her vision, and while she partially succeeded, her quick scan of the room did not bring her the information she sought.

"Zuko, where is your sister? Is Azula here?" Ursa inquired.

He tensed, already giving away that something was wrong even before he straightened up and revealed his despondent expression. "No," he answered quietly, meeting his mother's eyes only briefly. "She's in the capital. She's…not well, Mom. You have to come back with me," he begged, though the phrasing flavored it more as a command.

Ursa studied him for a lengthy interval, and then she glanced away. "I…I am too weak, my son, to make such a journey. But please, tell me what is wrong wi—"

A resounding cough interrupted her sentence and the deceptively tranquil atmosphere. The force of the reflex shook her whole body, and she curled forward, expelling harsh, wet coughs. Zuko stared at her in outright panic as she suffered the onslaught, and when she fell silent and slumped back against the pillows, none of the alarm left his face.

"What just—I should—" he blurted incompletely. Spying a pitcher and cup on the bedside table, he swiftly transferred the contents from the former to the latter, so quickly in fact that he sloshed a good quantity all over his hand. Swearing blackly under his breath, he grabbed the cup with his other hand and offered it to his mother, wiping the first on his tunic.

"Language, Zuko," Ursa reprimanded after she had taken a sip, and Zuko looked blankly at her for an uncertain instant before he laughed. They were weak, relief-born chuckles, but it was laughter nonetheless, and he relaxed on the mattress's edge again, still absently drying his hand.

"I have heard stories," she began, taking an occasional drink, and he couldn't help noticing that she looked wearier than before the coughing attack. "About the war, and how it ended, but…I want you to tell me your story. What is wrong with Azula? And when did you receive that scar?"

Zuko's whole body went cold, the brunt of his dread coalescing in an icy pool in his stomach. He suddenly needed a drink as badly as she—how could he tell her that Ozai, the man she had married and essentially entrusted her children to, had inflicted this punishment on their flesh and blood? For just an instant, he felt a flash of anger that she would ever abandon him to that demon of a man, but it faded in the wash of everything else.

"Oh, you know how war is," he replied lightly, by and large dismissing the question. "All those battles, and things get confused, and stuff like this happens." He waved a hand to emphasize the scar's lack of real importance, and he had never lied so much with a gesture. He grew grave, though, as he addressed the second issue. "Azula…is…out of it, really. She believed too much in what O—in what—in what he said, and in the end, when it all fell apart…" He trailed off with a shake of his head and concluded, "She fell apart, too. She just sits in this chair and stairs out the window and…and she doesn't recognize me half the time, and she doesn't remember Uncle, and she mostly thinks that…that you're there."

Ursa watched him relate his story with a quiet sort of pain in her eyes, and her thin fingers fisted in the blankets at the last statement, her knuckles standing out even more in her sallow flesh. "I prayed to Agni so continuously that you both would make it through…when we received word that you had become Fire Lord, I was so relieved because I thought that meant everything was fine…" She gave her head a slight shake, refocusing. "And you are Fire Lord, my son! I am so incredibly proud of you—I wanted to tell everyone, I wanted to brag that my son helped the Avatar, but with one thing or another…still, I never stopped praying for you, or being proud of you, or especially loving you."

Zuko opened his mouth, fully intending on asking her about all the secrecy—if she weren't hiding from Ozai, then from whom?—but just then a floorboard creaked, and the uninteresting sound surprisingly captured his full attention. He swiveled at the waist, looking towards the doorway.

For a moment, no one appeared, but then Katara sidled into view, appearing rather sheepish. "Sorry," she said shortly. "I didn't mean to interrupt…I was just going to check and see that…that…well, whatever," she dismissed. "I'll just go—"

"No, wait," Zuko said, and he rose to his feet in a curious twisting maneuver so that he was facing the opposite direction, his back no longer towards the bed. He glanced at his mother, who was looking on with interest, and then at the waterbender, who was still endeavoring to slip from sight. "Come in here, would you? There's someone I want you to meet."

Chewing her lip for a nervous second, Katara relented and walked to the foot of the bed, her hands somewhat uncertainly laced together.

Zuko practically beamed as he introduced the two women. "Mom, this is Katara, my best friend and the Avatar's waterbending teacher. Katara, this is my mother, Fire Lady Ursa."

"My lady," the girl intoned politely, bowing deeply in Fire Nation fashion, but then she sent Zuko a swift grin. "You forgot to say 'former archenemy'," she teased. "That's really the most important one."

Zuko chuckled, and Ursa raised her eyebrows, definitely intrigued now. "Well, that's another story I certainly must hear," she let her son know.

"You know, I'll let you two catch up," Katara said, backing away. "I've trespassed enough, and besides, I need to arrange for us to get a place to stay."

Zuko glanced critically at the floor space, but before he could even propose anything, Ursa overrode him with, "No, my love, you can't stay here. My coughing will keep you awake, and you deserve something softer than wooden boards after your journey here."

"Yes, exactly," Katara agreed, and she was out the door before he could try to keep her present. He huffed and stared at the once-again empty doorway, his hand settling on his hips.

"So," Ursa said innocently, "do tell me about young Miss Katara."

He glanced at her sidelong, and with the release of another sigh, he turned about and reclined on the bed's edge again, studying his hands in his lap. He shook his head, smiling faintly as his thoughts collected themselves.

"She's…infuriating and stubborn and hot-tempered and brilliant and ridiculously good at waterbending and the most—well, one of the most caring, understanding people I've ever met, and she's strong and she's brave and she's…" He trailed off with another shake of his head, his voice dropping another few notches until he was speaking just above a whisper. "And she's absolutely beautiful, and I've…I've never…"

"You love her," Ursa stated simply, her soft smile audible in her voice.

Zuko ran his hands back through his hair and dropped them to his thighs before he looked at her, caught between a grimace and a smile. "Am I so obvious?" he asked with a rueful laugh.

She patted his hand, and he turned it over, gripping hers once more. "Only to your mother, I should think," she replied. "Now, though…what did she say about being archenemies?"

Snorting, the Fire Lord turned halfway, lifting one leg onto the bed in a cross-legged fashion and letting the other one dangle. "Where should I begin?" he asked rhetorically. "Well, you probably noticed that she's from the Water Tribe, the Southern, to be exact, and four years ago…"

* * *

Katara gratefully slid to the ground in the storehouse slightly beyond the town proper; Gensu had identified the building as acceptable for their lodging, especially since there really was no other room in this tiny village far off the beaten path. She had agreed for two reasons: one, it really was fine, especially considering that it was only her and Zuko now; and two, her mind had been too full to think or even care about the state of the building she'd be sleeping in. As far as she was concerned right now, all she wanted to do was sleep.

She closed her eyes, uncomfortable with the dichotomy of feeling full and empty simultaneously. She was so happy, truly happy for Zuko—he had found his mother, and what she wouldn't give for five more minutes with Kya! But this only led to the small kernel of bitter envy nestled deep in her heart, and she felt so ashamed that it existed but couldn't stamp it out. She had suffered for eleven years, too, so shouldn't she get some reprieve?

Shouldn't the spirits give her the opportunity to talk to her mother one more time?

All she needed was a few minutes…just to make certain that she wasn't completely screwing up, to bask in that unconditional affection, and at the moment, to have someone to discuss Zuko with. Certainly Kya would have some good advice on the matter, and while Katara could admit that Ursa probably would have plenty of two cents to input on the subject, it wouldn't be the same.

But that led to guilt, staggering guilt, because Zuko's time with Ursa was ultimately fleeting. Gensu had said she was dying, and from the little Katara had seen of the former Fire Lady, he had not been wrong in his assessment. Ursa's time was limited, and really, it was so petty to begrudge him the short interval he had, especially when she knew—how acutely, too—how this would feel in the end.

And then she was overwhelmed with sadness, both emphatic and personal, and feeling so much so strongly just wore her out. She needed to rest…She slid sideways until she lay on her back, and she rested her arm wearily across her eyes, hiding in the shadow of her inner elbow.

Maybe when she woke up, this would all be sorted out in her head. Maybe.

* * *

"You know, I was wondering when you were going to wake up," Zuko remarked.

Katara scrubbed at her eyes, completely disorientated at waking to darkness. Still not entirely lucid enough to be capable of speech, she raised herself to a seated position, leaning on one arm; Zuko sat cross-legged some half dozen feet away from her, one of his hands cradling a collection of flames which cast flickering light and shivering shadow on the box-crowded interior of the storehouse.

"Mm…what time is it?" the waterbender asked, wishing this place had windows. She had left the door cracked open earlier for light, but now it appeared shut.

"Evening," Zuko replied, and he idly, seamlessly passed the fire to his other hand.

Katara nodded vaguely, and she pulled a small quantity of water from thin air and splashed it on her face. Ignoring Zuko's snicker at the action, she let it dissipate once more, although the chill of the water lingered on her skin and left her feeling considerably more refreshed.

"Why are you here?" she inquired, stretching out her legs, which had become cramped from sleeping with them bent, and she winced slightly as the muscles protested.

"As opposed to with my mother, I assume you mean," he said, and he glanced towards the door and shrugged. "Well, she tires easily, it seems. So she's already sleeping, and I hadn't seen you for hours, so I thought I'd better hunt you down. Gensu told me where you were, and I suppose I've slept in markedly worse places in the past," he added with a hint of a grin and a general wave to the storehouse's interior.

Katara merely nodded, uncertain how to continue. She didn't want to pry—reuniting with one's mother was, after all, a fairly personal event—even though she half wanted to know. The other half was still torn in several directions and aching with scraps of jealousy and bitterness and guilt.

Zuko, though, had no issues broaching the subject. "I was wondering, actually, if I could ask…well, I mean, if you could…"

She looked at him curiously when he failed to elaborate, concern settling in the crease between her eyebrows. "Spit it out, Zuke," she said, the lightheartedness somewhat forced into her tone. She just hated seeing him look like that—uncertain, pained, _lost_.

He sighed, quietly, and finally raised his eyes to hers; the golden irises had darkened to brown in the shadows, but with his handful of fire, pinpricks of light caught them and made them resemble smoldering wood shot through with sparking embers. The quintessential firebender, she thought distantly.

"You can heal," he said bluntly. "So…heal her."

A suffocating sort of half-dread pressed in on Katara's throat, and her jaw clenched. She had to lower her gaze, unable to keep holding his. "I…I don't know if I can, Zuko," she admitted softly. "I never really studied it, and I don't have any oasis water, and in any event…I've only ever healed injuries. Your mother's illness is a whole different—"

"What? No, it's not!" he countered sharply, and she blinked, caught off-guard by the sheer strength of his denial. He shot to his feet and swept one arm through the air. "A disease is exactly like an injury—both destroy the body. If you can fix one, you can fix the other! Why are you refusing?"

She physically recoiled at that last statement, at the underlying accusations. She didn't miss the way his fire had violently flared, either. "I'm not…I'm not outright _refusing_, Zuko," she managed to say. "I'm just trying to tell you that it probably won't make any difference."

He glared at her, wild-eyed, for an agonizing interval. "How can you say that?" he demanded, incredulous. "How can you, of all people, say that? This is my _mother!_"

"I know!" she exclaimed, matching his volume with her own to catch his attention before she quieted. "Spirits, I _know_. I just don't want to give you impossible hope, alright? I don't want to see it all come crashing down on you again. It…it hurts far too much to watch that." She studied her hands as she imparted the last part, suddenly uncomfortable with such an admission.

His body relaxed from its too-straight pose, and he crouched down to her level. The flames extinguished as he set both his hands on her shoulders, and she was grateful for the enveloping dark. It was a reassuring mask, especially given the strange way her heart itself had flinched. It was almost as if…

"Katara," he said softly, as though her name were some sort of magic spell. "Katara…I didn't…realize. This just has me all…twisted up, you know? I'm constantly on edge, and I shouldn't've taken it out on you. That wasn't fair of me, not at all. I'm sorry."

"Idiot," she mumbled, and it sounded as if there might have been tears in her voice, in her eyes. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I'll…I'll try tomorrow. I swear I'll do my best."

"I know you'd give nothing less," he replied sincerely, fingers flexing on her shoulders.

She sniffed, endeavoring to reclaim the tears without having to move her arms; she liked the weight of his hands, the lingering warmth from the flames and the enduring warmth of his life. And because the enveloping blackness gave her a strange sense of security, she whispered, "I'm sorry, Zuko."

He scoffed. "Tch. What's with all these apologies? We're being pathetic. And anyway, what're you talking about?"

She lifted her hands slowly and gently closed her fingers on his wrists; they trailed up his arms until she was holding onto his shoulders, too. "For this. This whole situation," she clarified after a beat. "I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy, and to have it happen to you…"

There was a pause, and then he ventured, "Well, I used to be your worst enemy, so…"

She detected the attempt at humor, at lightening this dark conversation, and while she appreciated the effort, her chest was still so unbearably tight. "Spirits…" she breathed, "I just don't want this to happen to you."

And she tugged on his shoulders, causing him to lean forward, and they both slipped into each other's embrace. She held him fiercely, but she wasn't sure if that were to somehow strengthen him or simply to alleviate the awful tension compressing her heart.

At length, though, he murmured, "Thank you, Katara."

She didn't release him, but she felt as if she could breathe a little easier.

* * *

Katara was in the middle of re-braiding her hair when Zuko ceased his lazy pacing and spoke.

"There's just one thing I don't get," he said, his brow furrowed. She studied his profile, as he was staring at one of the many crates occupying their current lodging. "Mom won't talk about why she left. Ozai told me on the Day of Black Sun that he had her banished on account of treason…but what he said back when you bloodbe—well, back then, and now how she won't come home, even though I'm Fire Lord…" He shook his head again, clearly frustrated with his lack of information.

"I'm sure she has a good reason," Katara assured him, tying off the end of the braid. She rose to her feet, dusting stray bits of debris off her pants and robe. "She'll tell you, I'm sure. All in due time."

"Due time," he echoed, pensive. "I wonder…"

She winced inwardly—that had not been the best way to phrase it. Who knew how much time Ursa had left? Hours? Weeks? Years? It was uncertain, at least for now; regardless of whether Katara could reverse the process or not, she believed in her ability to calculate the disease's progression.

Tucking her arm through the crook of his, she urged him to motion; he followed her lead, and they walked along the short dirt road that connected the village proper to the storehouse. It was but a brief journey through the forest, and then they were out in unobstructed sunlight once more. The storehouse was on the same end of town as Gensu's home, and even if it hadn't been, it still would not have been a terribly lengthy journey.

The Elder was reclined at his table, sipping tea and reading a scroll, when they arrived. He smiled up at them, his face devoured with the resulting wrinkles, and rose with surprising ease to his feet. He bowed, a gesture they returned.

"Good morning, Lord Zuko, Sifu Katara," he said pleasantly in his thin voice. "Lady Ursa is still asleep. Perhaps you would care for some tea?"

Katara saw the hesitation in Zuko's face; he didn't want to risk being impolite, but he didn't want to delay seeing his mother, either. He had to take advantage of every precious second…

"Thank you, we would love some," she said for both of them, "but we would like to check on Lady Ursa first. If it would not be too much trouble—"

"Do not worry," Gensu replied, waving a brittle hand. "I will not drink it all."

She smiled briefly at that, but then she and Zuko moved off for the stairs; as they climbed the wooden steps, she let her fingers twine with his. She didn't quite know why—or rather, she had a suspicion that she was more than uncomfortable admitting to—but she was growing very fond of the gesture. There was something magical about it, calming and strengthening all at once.

They reached Ursa's doorway, and she squeezed his hand before releasing, letting him pass into his mother's room first. She hung back in the doorway, as physically removed from the situation as she emotionally felt. It was so odd to see Zuko like this, so very delicate in his touches and yet with a certain undeniable aura of childishness about him. She realized absently that it was similar to the way he had been around Azula, except much more pronounced.

She had never known him as a little boy, but in these few moments, she could so easily imagine it.

"Mom?" he asked softly, laying his hand lightly on hers.

Ursa stirred, lids lifting and amber eyes meeting her son's. "Oh, Zuko…I am glad you are back so soon," she said, and she gripped his hand with that same surprising strength.

He smiled and reached over with his free hand, moving a few errant hairs from her forehead. "Of course I am," he replied warmly, and he glanced over his shoulder at Katara.

Ursa followed his look, and she gave a small nod in acknowledgement. "Ah, Katara, I did not see you there. Good morning."

"My lady," the waterbender greeted, slipping into another bow. When she straightened, she quirked an eyebrow at Zuko, not entirely sure how to proceed.

He understood, turning back to his mother. "Katara's a healer, too—I told you that, remember? Well, she's here to see if…if she can…well, you know."

Ursa gave her son a long look, and it seemed to be flavored with too much bitter and not enough sweet. But then she shifted herself so that she was more propped up on her pillows, and she weakly waved the waterbender over. Katara obeyed the wordless gesture, approaching the former Fire Lady from the opposite side of the bed and gloving her hands in just-condensed water.

"That is impressive," Ursa remarked. "Zuko told me you were an accomplished master, but I have never seen anything like that."

Katara flushed faintly, a little embarrassed at such praise. "It's nothing, really," she said, half-kneeling on the mattress's edge. "Now, my lady, if you would please hold still…"

Ursa remained motionless as Katara reached out with one hand, watery fingers hovering just above the elder woman's brow. Her own forehead furrowing in concentration, Katara slipped into the strange state of healing, listening intently to the push and pull of all the forces at work in Ursa's body. There was blood rushing here and food digesting here and muscles atrophying here and…

Katara flinched as she regarded the illness's footprints. She remembered how horrible Jet's injuries had been beneath Lake Laogai—but he had survived, hadn't he, some part of her mind hissed—but this, while equally detrimental, was completely different.

It wasn't so much that any part of Ursa was truly broken; rather, it was that too many parts were simply failing.

And there wasn't, she realized, anything she could fix.

A lump filled her throat as she retracted her hand, and when she met Ursa's eyes, she saw that the other woman had known all along. So that was what that look she had given Zuko before had meant; Ursa had foreseen the vainness of this gesture. She had known she was dying.

Katara suddenly couldn't breathe, too much was pressing in on her, and she barely retained the presence of mind to evaporate the water before her hand curled into an impotent fist. Tears filled her eyes as she held Ursa's gaze, and only Zuko's somewhat confused and urgent voice broke through the overpowering roar in her ears.

"What's going on? What? Would someone tell me—?"

"I'm sorry," she said, choking on the words. "Dear Twi and La, I am _so sorry_…"

She wavered upon gaining her feet, and it took all her strength to even manage to stagger from the room; her legs were all twisted and weak beneath her, and the air suddenly became as resistant as pure molasses. She made it halfway down the stairs before she could go no farther, and she slid down the wall and bowed her head into her hands.

How could this be happening? she wondered. Spirits above, _how_?

And it was so ironic, she thought bitterly, that she had counseled Zuko not to put too much hope into this exercise in futility, yet she had secretly prayed that she would have the power to make it all better. This was not a problem she could kiss and make it go away; not even a real mother had that power this time.

One of her hands shifted to clutch her necklace, and the other's fingertips dug into her temple as the tears finally leaked from her tightly shut eyes. She shouldn't be here, sobbing pointlessly on a staircase; she should be in there, comforting—

"Katara? Are you alright?" Zuko asked as he sat next to her on the steps.

She exhaled a garbled laugh. "Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?" she asked, even as her mother's pendant dug deeper into the soft flesh of her palm. "Shouldn't I be asking you?"

He was silent for a long moment, in which he apparently dismissed her questions, as he said, "I don't blame you for this. It's not as if you made her sick."

"But I failed you," she insisted in a voice quiet with self-deprecation. "I can't save anyone, can I? Not my mother…and not yours."

He opened his mouth to say something but then shut it again in soundless contemplation. He had been so caught up in the whirlwind of his mission, of its long-overdue completion, that he had neglected all else and completely failed to realize what effect this had on her. Certainly she must have understood from the start that this was a possibility—that by Ursa being found dead or dying, she would be forced to relive her own mother's passing. Yet she had come anyway…

He bowed his head as well with that epiphany, unable to wholly comprehend the depth of her loyalty. Truly she was one of kind, and even as his heart bled with the promise of the inevitable, the blow was softened by her mere presence, her limitless compassion.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and realized distantly they were doing this a lot lately—comforting one another in silence. There was certainly more than enough pain to go around. And as if from an obscene desire to worsen it, he asked quietly, "Do you…know how long?"

She drew a shuddering breath; he felt it shake in her shoulders. "A week," she disclosed, barely audible herself. "At most. Not…not long."

He nodded, numbness creeping back into the edges of his consciousness, and his arm tightened reflexively around her.

Seven days. One hundred sixty-eight hours. Ten thousand eighty minutes.

And not one minute more.


	13. treize

* * *

_**Beyond the Rising Sun**_

_**xiii.**_

Time, Zuko discovered, was a fickle, cruel thing.

It didn't help that he was torn in two in terms of perceiving it. Half of him wanted nothing more than to focus absolutely, almost obsessively, on the present—this minute, this second, this instant in time. He didn't want to think about what would happen in the next hour or later that night or, Agni forbid, what may occur tomorrow. No, this was about cherishing _now _and drinking in every last detail and searing it all into his memory, so that one day he would be able to flip back through these interconnected instants and reflect.

And then there was the other half of him, which had a conflicting tendency to keep looking ahead. He kept frantic count in his head—four days left, three days left, two days and twenty-three hours left. The only way he could fully appreciate the present was by realizing that it was a fleeting thing, and the only way he could do that was by continually reminding himself that it would not last, that it was doomed to end in a scant two days and fourteen hours and three minutes…two minutes.

It was relentless, this dichotomy. It was almost paralyzing.

He also found himself fearing—with an almost unreasonably strong, suffocating apprehension—the arrival of the seventh day. His logical mind told him that was utterly ridiculous; Katara may have estimated that his mother's life would last only a week longer, but that certainly didn't mean that Ursa had to die on the stroke of midnight on the final day. She could—again, Agni forbid—die sooner, or perhaps she would linger on later.

But he endeavored to avoid _that_ thought most of all.

He did not dare to consider that Ursa might survive to see an eighth sunset. It was so easy, painfully easy, to dredge up wisps of almost-forgotten hope and breathe new, naïve life into them. So easy to argue that if she reached the eighth, then why couldn't she reach the ninth? It was just one more day. And if she could survive nine, then maybe ten. If two weeks, then maybe a month. If a month, then maybe six. If half a year, then maybe a whole.

And at that rate, she might never die.

_Oh, Agni, please please please…_

He tried not to sleep too much; he wanted to be awake at all times, especially when…when…well, he just wanted to be awake for that. He didn't want to miss it, but what if she passed in her sleep? What if there were no final reassurances, no last embraces? What if she left him to the ravages of this world, cold and alone, without even goodbye?

Katara had told him—gently, without meeting his eyes—that he should try to get more sleep. Ursa was constantly weary (was growing wearier with each passing minute, he hated to see), and she certainly slept enough for him to get a solid eight hours.

But Zuko didn't care. He just didn't want to sleep. He couldn't remember his dreams upon waking, but he knew they were vague visions of darkness and ice-cold emptiness, enough to make him lie on his back and stare at the ceiling of the storehouse, eyes wide and stinging in the shadows. His only reassurance in those nightmare-plagued hours—because it didn't matter if he were unconscious or not, the insidious fears crept into his heart anyway—was the soft, lulling rhythm of Katara's breathing.

She never slept too far away from him; there wasn't much room in the storehouse that wasn't occupied by crates, true, but she still made her presence known in subtle ways. She wasn't about to engage him, giving him space but making certain that he knew she was just an arm's length away.

He loved her for that almost more than anything else.

The shadows began altering ever so slightly in depth, and the pinprick holes in the thatched roof began allowing the tiniest slivers of dull light to dimly illuminate the atmosphere. It was dawn again. He had watched so many dawns, so many dusks.

All his insides writhed uncomfortably, twisting into a colossal knot and forcing reflexes like breathing to a conscious level. But this was a sunrise unlike any other because every particle of his being anticipated—no, _knew_ somehow, they all _knew_ that this would be her last.

It was the seventh day.

Zuko pushed himself stiffly into a sitting position. He had not slept, had not even closed his eyes, only whiling away the hours staring at the ceiling and praying for time to stop, for the inevitable conclusion not to arrive. The dark was still thick in the air, even if it were steadily thinning, but he had no trouble locating Katara's slumbering form.

She lay a few feet away, half curled and facing him. Her thick locks had scattered in sleep, and he reached over and carefully slipped a few stray strands from her face. Adjusting her hair had an unforeseen effect, though; her necklace was revealed, the smooth pendant not quite gleaming in the softening shadows.

His fingers curled back, retreating. Perhaps he shouldn't disturb her; she had already been through so much. She had already experienced the hell he was just waiting to drop on his head.

Truthfully, he hadn't seen as much of her in the past week as he would have liked. He was always with his mother, and she was careful not to intrude; he wasn't sure how much of that was out of respect for him and his evanescent time with Ursa and how much of that was out of fear of growing attached to another maternal figure, only to have her swept away as well.

She had largely spent her days with Gensu, although he had gleaned from their brief conversations that she had also made the rounds with the villagers. He couldn't imagine that Gensu was a particularly entertaining host, but regardless of that, she was always waiting downstairs when he descended in the late evening glow.

She was just there, a silent, understanding presence. Agni, did she understand.

His fingertips traced the curve of her cheek before they slid down to her shoulder. He gave her a slight shake, his mind made up.

Above all else, he did not want to face this alone.

She stirred sluggishly, her shoulders hunching and her eyes scrunching tightly as she soundlessly protested waking. But soon enough her muscles relaxed, and she flopped onto her back, blinking blearily at the still-shrouded ceiling.

"Ugh…wha…what time…?" she mumbled, only half lucid, and stifled a yawn.

He hid a smile. He found it so unbearably cute that she could never get up at this hour. But then again, she rose with the moon.

"Not quite morning," he replied quietly, his words merging with more than breaking the silence.

She groaned at that and dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, and he recognized the precise moment when she realized what day it was. Her entire body stiffened, and her hands slid down slowly from now-wide eyes. She studied him for a lengthy interval in the pre-dawn gloom, and then with a turn of speed that belied her half-awake state, she had gathered him in an embrace.

He would've described it as a tackle if she hadn't been so achingly gentle.

He finally allowed his eyes to slide shut, soaking in the warmth of her closeness and inhaling the lingering salt of the sea clinging to her skin. She had kept her distance all week, yet now she chose to close the gap. Could she read him so well? Had she known that at this instant, he needed that? Needed her?

She eased back a bit, blue eyes meeting gold. If his mind had been anywhere else but suffocating beneath the weight of today's black promise, he would have been unable to resist the temptation to kiss her. But as it were, he merely looked back at her, distantly aware that if it'd been lighter, he probably could've counted her eyelashes.

"If…if it's alright with you," she began hesitantly, glancing from iris to iris as if his left would provide different information than his right, "I'd like to…stay with you today. If that's okay. I just…I don't think anything _has_ to happen today, you know, but…I…you shouldn't have to be alone." Her lips flickered in what might've been a smile.

He answered with his own wan attempt. "I would like that," he said, his voice scarcely above a whisper.

* * *

Ursa had settled into the rhythm of waking around mid-morning, so the two benders dallied in the storehouse long after Katara had fixed a meager breakfast. She knew they needed to stock up on supplies, which would be easy enough if somewhat illegal as they were in the storehouse, but Zuko didn't seem to mind the lack of fare. He hardly ate anything to begin with, a habit he had picked up in the last week.

She could barely look at him when he was like this: scared and waiting, agonizingly waiting for the end he knew would come. It made parts of her hurt that she didn't even know she had, and the food consequently turned to ash in her mouth. She hardly ate anything, either.

Minutes passed in silence—she couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't be inadequate, and he didn't seem inclined to speak at all. After an uncertain interval, he extended his hand in her direction; she took his cue and laced her fingers through his, letting her thumb wander comfortingly across his knuckles.

He spared her a brief glance, thick with unspoken gratitude, and she squeezed his hand in reply.

Eventually, though, Zuko began to grow impatient—as sickeningly ironic as that reality was—and after bouncing one crossed leg up and down for some time, he exhaled through his nose and gained his feet. She followed his action swiftly enough so that his still-tight hold on her hand didn't strain her arm, and she eyed him sadly when he failed to continue moving.

He shook his head slowly, staring listlessly at some imaginary speck. "How do you do it?" he asked quietly, hollowly. "She hasn't even…but…but I'm already…"

She glanced aside, finding her own distant point to focus on. "I don't know," she said at length. "Sometimes I don't know how I get up in the morning. But…but it helps to have people there, people who remind you that no matter what else happens, you're still alive and have to keep on living. I had Sokka and Gran-Gran, and sometimes Dad."

His face twisted into a bitter grimace. "And I have Ozai and Azula. Great."

"Zuko," she said in a tone that brooked no room for argument. She reached up and across with her free hand and turned his face towards hers. "You have me. Don't you ever forget that."

He didn't smile, but he wasn't grimacing any longer, either. He held her gaze, all sorts of emotions roiling in his eyes, and opened his mouth, as if he had every intention of offering a rebuttal. But then he simply closed it again and brushed past her; he did not relinquish his hold on her, though, making it clear that his movement wasn't a dismissal.

As they had exactly a week ago, she followed him down the short path through the trees and into the little village. Morning had already broken, and so people were up and about, doing whatever it was that they did in this isolated community. Katara had spent seven days amongst them, but she still wasn't quite sure why anyone would build a town in this sheltered vale. It wasn't as if they'd happened across gold or something; as far as she could tell, they were a largely self-sufficient bunch of hunters and gatherers.

She was dragged from her random musings as Zuko entered Gensu's house. He didn't even bother greeting the Elder or respectfully removing his boots; he seemed to have acquired tunnel-vision, and he pulled her along behind him. She could only offer an apologetic half-shrug to their host as Zuko marched purposefully to the stairs.

Despite their speed, their ascent was nearly noiseless, and Zuko ground to a halt before his mother's door. Katara waited patiently half a step behind him, not about to push him. If he needed to get a hold of himself, then she would let him. She could barely imagine how she would have coped if someone had given her foreknowledge of Kya's death—all she knew was that it wouldn't have been pretty.

She forcibly squashed the welling memories. This was not the time or place for that; all similarities aside, this was Zuko's last chance, not her own. She shouldn't be so easily distracted by the rising swell of the never-distant past…

She managed to catch the sob in her throat, and she hoped Zuko didn't read into—or at least, read into the wrong way—why her fingers suddenly went white-knuckle tight on his.

He didn't appear to notice, all his attention focused on the once-mindless motions required to open a door. It seemed he could barely recall how to turn a knob.

"Zuko…" she whispered, brow crumpling.

"I'm fine," he said shortly, but the thick, wavering quality of his voice attested to the transparency of his lie.

She didn't comment on it and simply watched him as he finally managed to push the door inwards. He had since moved a chair into the room, and he gestured that she take it before he installed himself on the edge of his mother's bed.

Ursa lay sunken into the pillows, the blankets pulled up nearly to her shoulders. Her shallow breathing was only just audible, but Katara didn't miss the almost casual way Zuko checked her pulse when he took his mother's hand in his. She wouldn't be surprised if he kept one finger on that subtle pounding, just so he would be certain to notice when she finally…when she…

Katara couldn't even finish the sentence in her head.

_Mom, I'm scared!_

Her lids slid shut with a kind of fatalistic acceptance, and she massaged her forehead, as if she could somehow wipe the memory away. She knew she couldn't, though. Of all the last words…

_Go find your dad, sweetie. I'll be fine._

"Mom?"

Katara gratefully reclaimed her hold on the present when Zuko's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. He was leaning forward slightly, his free hand halfway to Ursa's face but faltering in midair. She didn't miss the tension in his back and shoulders.

"Mom?" he echoed, louder, and Katara didn't miss the note of panic, either. "Hey, Mom, wake up. Mom!"

She hadn't realized her hands had clenched into fists until she felt the blood beneath her nails. Blinking from the small, stinging pains, she summoned a tiny bit of water and smoothed out the red crescents in her palms.

When she looked up again, Zuko's hand had found an anchor on Ursa's shoulder, and he pushed; it couldn't quite be called shaking, too slow for that. After another urgent call had passed Zuko's lips, the former Fire Lady finally stirred. She took more time achieving full alertness than Katara at dawn, and that was certainly saying something, not to mention that Ursa's current definition of full alertness seemed to fall a little short of the general one.

"Oh…Zuko…I didn't see you there," she said slowly, still regaining her bearings in the waking world. "I had just been dreaming about you. And Azula, on Ember Island. Do you remember? That one summer when you made all those sand castles?"

He smiled despite the distress still clinging to his features. "Yeah, I do. It got a little unfair when Azula realized she could superheat the sand and turn it into glass," he remarked, glancing over his shoulder briefly at Katara to include her in the conversation.

"Somehow I'm not surprised," the waterbender replied. It wasn't the most creative response, but she felt rather out of sorts. The situation was rapidly dredging up her worst memories, and it was all she could do not to break down on the spot.

"Katara, I am glad to see you," Ursa said, shifting slightly on the mattress so that she could catch a glimpse of the girl beyond her son. "Actually, I have been meaning to speak with you."

Katara blinked, certainly not anticipating that.

Zuko seemed somewhat intrigued as well, and he cast Katara another brief glance before he refocused on his mother. "Well, go on, then," he said, the brusqueness of his tone denied by the softness in his eyes and the gentleness of his hands around hers.

Ursa laughed weakly, a scattering of breathy chuckles. "No, no, my son," she corrected, "I would like to speak to her alone."

His brow crumpled in genuine hurt at this dismissal. "But…but…"

She tightened her grip on his hands, as much as her frail limbs would allow. "Not for long, Zuko. There are just some things I would like to say."

He clearly debated the issue for several more moments, but at length he nodded once, admitting defeat. Leaning down, he brushed a soft kiss to his mother's forehead before he turned and left, his hand touching Katara's shoulder as he passed her.

The door shut silently, and Katara swallowed, suddenly nervous. Had she done something wrong? Or something right? And why did Ursa feel the need to speak to her, of all people, when she teetered over the threshold of death's door?

"What is it, my lady?" she asked, doing her level best to keep the timidity from her tone.

Ursa shook her head, a weak motion from side to side. "No, no…please, no titles here, not between us, Katara. Besides, I have not been the Fire Lady for some time…" She trailed off, her expression becoming pensive. "There is something I wish to tell you, something I am not certain Zuko would be capable of hearing…"

Katara scooted her chair closer to better hear the woman's quiet words. "I don't know about that," she replied. "Zuko's a pretty strong guy, to say the least."

Ursa sighed, a lengthy and shallow exhalation, and her amber eyes—so like Zuko's and, indeed, so like Azula's—grew momentarily distant. "When I see the fine man he has become, I regret missing all those years. He is still a child in my mind…but perhaps that is fitting, because he still seems something of a child in my presence. No, Katara, I do not believe he should hear this. Not now, and perhaps not ever. He…thinks too well of me."

The waterbender nodded, even though that last comment made her wonder what on earth she was about to hear. "Alright. I won't tell. Promise."

The former Fire Lady gave her own small nod, settling back into the pillows. She hesitated a long while, but Katara did not prompt her; she could sense this confession was difficult as it was, and her badgering would not help matters.

"Eleven years ago," Ursa finally began, "Ozai attempted to convince Lord Azulon to name him the heir instead of Iroh. He cited Iroh's paralyzing grief from the loss of his only son, Lu Ten, as evidence of his brother's incompetence."

Katara couldn't help the disgust that flashed across her face. And to think she had found Ozai loathsome before.

The elder woman didn't seem to notice, continuing with her tale. "Lord Azulon did not agree with Ozai's logic; I think he saw something in his son that he'd tried not to notice but could ignore no longer—that insatiable need for power. Maybe he could tell that it wouldn't be good to have Ozai on the throne; maybe he always secretly loved Iroh more; I don't pretend to know." She shrugged but did not linger long, apparently needing to move on to other things.

"Lord Azulon said that Ozai was too coldhearted, that he did not understand his brother's pain—and so to rectify that matter," she nearly spat, her beautiful features twisting, "he threatened to cause the same loss."

"Wait," Katara interrupted, unable to hold her silence. "Are you saying…that he would actually…?"

Ursa's grimace faded in intensity but did not disappear altogether. "Over these years, I have wondered if it were an idle threat, if he merely wanted to put Ozai in his place. But the Fire royalty does not bother with such _weak_ things as empty threats, and in the end, how could I have risked it? How could I have gambled Zuko's life like that?"

The girl reached impulsively for the other's hand and held it reassuringly, encouragingly, understandingly. She already knew how this story would end, and it brought a lump to her throat to even imagine the scenario—so who could live through it?

Tears had gathered along the woman's long lashes, but they did not slip down her face. "It was all so horrible. I was losing Ozai to his own depravity and lust, and Azula was so much her father's child…I had hoped she would grow out of it, that it was just the cruelty of children, but from Zuko's account…" She could not continue, and Katara began to lose circulation in her fingers.

"I could not lose Zuko, too," she said, her voice stronger, if still thick with emotion. "I could not. He was my happiness—thinking of him, praying for his safety, hoping he'd make it through this war…he still is my happiness," she confessed, softer.

Katara's heart ached in her chest, and she blinked back her own tears. She wondered if Ursa were losing feeling in her fingers, too.

A droplet finally slid free, leaving a glistening, salty trail on her thin face. "I had no choice; I had to act, even though it was tearing me apart…to keep him alive, only to have to leave and never see him again." Her voice cut out, and she raised her free hand to her mouth as if she could physically hold the sobs inside. "So I told him goodbye and to be strong and…I met with Ozai to explain that Zuko was no longer in danger, even though he could've put the pieces together," she said, her voice rallying into blandness as she reeled off the facts, "because it wouldn't be too hard: Azulon turns up dead and I vanish, especially with Azulon's threat towards Zuko…Zuko, though, was much too young, and too incapable of thinking such evil of me, or really of thinking it of anyone. He is too good-hearted…"

"Yes," Katara agreed softly, "he is. He's one of the best." Her grip loosened a little as her thoughts wandered, trying to process this staggering account. Ursa had killed Azulon to protect Zuko—she couldn't manage to think poorly of the woman, though. How could she? She herself had nearly killed Ozai, and besides, those long-ago situations were too similar to inspire anything but sorrow in her heart.

Kya had died to protect her child; Ursa had killed to protect hers.

Katara tried and failed to banish the final image she had of her own mother: driven into a corner but still strong, still capable of offering a smile and a reassurance—however false—to her daughter. Only thinking of everyone else, even to the bitter end.

_Go find your dad, sweetie. I'll be fine._

And she had, and they had returned, and Hakoda had not been swift enough to keep Katara from seeing her mother's body, a hole seared almost neatly directly through her heart. Hakoda had removed her from the horrific scene, and she had sobbed uncontrollably until Sokka had arrived and shown genuine compassion towards her for the very first time, not indulging in usual older brother antics. He hadn't even known what happened until Hakoda emerged several minutes later, gray-faced and gripping his wife's necklace so hard the pendant cut into his skin.

Her hand rose automatically to her throat, fingertips brushing the cool stone, following the subtle engravings. She swallowed hard and managed to say, "You did what had to be done. No one could blame you, especially not Zuko."

Ursa did not look entirely convinced at either of Katara's statements. "I am not certain of that," she whispered. "By now he may have pieced it together, even if he does not yet want to see the picture it makes. I do not want to spend my final minutes with him fearing that he hates me or is disappointed with me. I just want…peace."

Katara nodded; it was all she was capable of doing. How could she of all people deny a mother's last request?

"Zuko talks quite a bit about you," Ursa commented, dragging the waterbender from her depressed musings. "I merely asked him who you were once you two first arrived, and I do not believe he stopped talking for an hour."

She flushed faintly, embarrassed at the unspoken implications and certainly at the needless praise. "I'm hardly as wonderful or interesting as he made me out to be," she replied, her voice still somewhat raw.

Ursa gave her what could only be described as a Look. "I don't know about that," she said. "He said you were strong and brave as well as compassionate and forgiving."

Katara let out a little laugh. "Did he mention my temper and my ability to hold grudges against him? Because those were the first of my traits that he was well acquainted with."

She continued smiling a small, secretive smile. "Whatever your flaws, Katara, he holds you in incredibly high esteem." She paused and then added more seriously, "You make him happy. Thank you."

The gratitude in her tone was palpable, and the waterbender met her eyes with something like disbelief reflected in her own. "I…I don't know if I'd go _that_ far," she finally remarked, seeking refuge in lighthearted denial. "I bet there's plenty of exasperation amongst all that happiness."

Ursa seemed nonplussed with the girl's determined dodging. "You love him," she pointed out.

Katara dimly wondered how the conversation had gotten onto this track, but as much as she wanted to flippantly reply, _Well, we are best friends, so…_ she couldn't quite manage it. Instead she said softly, truthfully, "Yes. I do."

There was a hint of triumph in those golden eyes, but mostly there was more genuine gratitude, and she tightened her grip briefly on the waterbender's hand. "And that makes him happy," she explained.

She didn't know how to reply without resorting to nonchalant sarcasm, and so she said nothing, simply soaking in the words and all their implications.

"Watch out for him, will you?" Ursa asked. "Keep him out of trouble."

"I always have," Katara said, more at ease with this sentiment. If there had ever been an easy promise to make, it was this one. What Toph had referred to as her annoying, overly-motherly qualities had insisted on keeping a weather eye on all her friends until the end of time.

But because this was his mother, she added, "I always will."

Ursa smiled faintly. "I'm glad," she whispered, and her face was content for a fraction of a second before she coughed violently, her whole upper body spasming with the strength.

Katara tapped into her circulatory system with her bending, and there it was—her heart was faltering. No, not just faltering: it was finally failing. And it was taking her lungs with it.

"No, you can't, not yet, Zuko's not here!" she blurted, and then she yelled, "_Zuko!_"

The firebender was through the door so fast it was a wonder it didn't snap off its hinges, and Katara retreated to hover behind him as he snatched up his mother's hand and shot her a harried look.

"What's going on? What? What?" he demanded. "Why is she coughing so badly? What did you do to her?"

Katara blanched, reeling back a step. "I didn't do _anything_—" she began protesting, but his frantic eyes had already turned back to his mother, and she realized distantly that he was panicking and hadn't meant such a despicable accusation.

"Mom, Mom, are you okay? Here, let's get you some water…" he began, but she sent him a commendable glare in the hitching instant between coughs. And then, just as suddenly as they had begun, the violent hacks ceased, leaving Ursa to slump back into the pillows, even weaker than before.

Zuko's gaze was riveted on the dark stains on her palm, and Katara numbly watched blood trickle down her chin.

He made a choking sound, as if he had forgotten how to breathe, and he hunched in on himself for one protective second before he straightened with the strength of denial. "No, you're not…not yet, not ever!" he commanded, tearing one arm through the air in an authoritative gesture. "I am the Fire Lord, and you will obey me! I order you not to die!"

His mother slanted him a look that was half amused incredulity and half apologetic sorrow, and she slowly and with difficulty reached for his hand. He accepted it in a white-knuckled grip, his teeth gritted so hard the muscles were standing out in his jaw. For several moments he was still, the only sound Ursa's wet breathing and his own sharp inhales.

And then Katara laid a hand on his shoulder in an effort to relay her closeness and comfort, and he snapped into action, whirling on her.

"What're you waiting for?" he yelled, gesturing curtly with his free hand. "Hurry up and heal her already!"

She flinched at this unexpected twist but rallied soon enough. "Zuko, I _can't_!" she exclaimed, something of pleading hiding in her tone. "You asked me when we got here, remember? If I could, I would have done it already—I wouldn't have waited until the last minute like this!"

"But you're a healer!" he retorted, flushed with the exertion of such volume.

"That doesn't mean I can fix everything!" she shot back, and she immediately regretted taking such a tone. His entire being collapsed, as if the individual cells had all withdrawn, aware of the effect of those hope-crushing words on the sum of their parts.

"But…but Aang and the lightning," he floundered, grasping at absolutely everything, desperate for salvation. "And me at the Agni Kai…and, and you said you could heal my…"

"There's nothing I can do," she informed him softly, her heart twisting as every worst emotion flashed across his face.

He simply stared at her wordlessly as tears gathered thickly on his lashes, threatening to fall; she had never seen him so lost and scared, and he resembled a terrified child. And then he slowly returned his gaze to his mother, and he thudded to his knees. He gathered her weak arm in both of his and sobbed unrestrainedly into her sleeve.

"Y-You can't…" he begged at intervals. "Azula needs you…don't you remember what state she's in? She…she needs you…and I need you, and…I already lost you once, wasn't that enough? You can't, you just can't…"

"Zuko," she said softly, and he raised his head, looking at her with blurry vision. She reached across with her free hand and tenderly wiped the tears away. He stiffened as her fingers traced the mottled flesh of his scar, brushing away droplets that had slipped from his narrowed eye.

"Zuko," she breathed again, a faint, fond smile curving her lips. "My Zuko. My beautiful, beautiful boy. Look at what a handsome man you've become."

Her hand was still caressing his scar.

His heart slammed to a messy halt against his ribcage as more choking tears welled in his eyes. And Katara felt hers break for only the second time.

_Go find your dad, sweetie._

This can't be happening again, she pleaded in the desolate silence of her mind. Please, please, _please_ not you, too…

"You'll be so happy," Ursa said, her eyes flickering briefly to the stricken waterbender. "I wish I could see…"

Zuko shook his head violently. "No, Mom, no! Stop talking like that—you'll see everything, I swear! I—"

He cut himself off as she coughed once more, horrible wet coughs that wracked her dying frame in cruel, final spasms. They watched in helpless agony as the coughs attacked without respite and eventually tapered back into silence, their war won. Her body had finally surrendered, her lungs full and her muscles too weak to fight it anymore.

Half-open amber eyes refocused on her son, and she whispered, "Tell Azula…that…I'm sorry…and that…I'll always…love her."

Zuko nodded, unable to manage anything else, tears carving unending rivulets down his face.

"Take care of…her. She doesn't…mean it."

He inhaled sharply, as if he had finally found the strength to speak, but he just nodded again, leaving his head bowed.

She raised a frail, minutely trembling hand and lifted his chin. "I love you…my son, my Zuko. My little…boy. I am so…so very proud of you."

"Mom…" he choked out, blinking hard and freeing more tears. "You can't…you can't leave me. _Don't leave me_."

Her lips barely curved in a ghost of a smile as he held her hand to his face, his scar, his fingers tight on hers. "Don't be sad…Zuko. I'll…be fine…"

_I'll be fine_.

Something heavy thudded into Katara's chest, shattering her already-broken heart into splinters and shards and burying the pieces deeply. She staggered where she stood, at once both unbearably numb and hauntingly raw.

"Mom, don't…" Zuko begged as her lashes gently meshed. "Mom, wait…wait, you can't, you can't…"

His voice failed him as her hand went limp in his, and he stared at her in blank disbelief, his head wavering back and forth in distant denial. The shaking became faster, and he muttered, "No, no, no…" under his breath over and over in a mantra, the volume increasing in a steady crescendo.

"Zuko," Katara said, the words coming to her from far away. "She's…she's gone."

"_No!_" he cried, lurching to his feet and confronting her in one furious motion. "No she's not! She's not dead!" His hands fisted in her collar, and the terrible trembling in his arms caused her whole body to shake. "_She's not dead!_" he roared anew, and he shoved her roughly aside before storming from the room.

Katara caught herself clumsily against the wall, her head spinning and her heart continuing to break into smaller and smaller fragments. She did not have to guess at the unimaginable pain he was suffering—hadn't she suffered it herself, borne it for years that did nothing to dull its edge? And what had she told Zuko? That this was a punishment she would never have wished on her worst enemy, and now it had fallen on her best friend.

On the man she loved.

The telltale sounds of firebending wrenched her from her dire thoughts and forced her to entertain even direr ones. He was in a state of blind agony, and she remembered from far-off days that Jeong Jeong had said that firebending walked a thin line between control and destruction, and she also remembered that Zuko had always been meticulous about his meditation lest he lose what little control he exercised.

But now this…

She hurtled from the room, raking both hands through the air and gathering water to her fingers. He wasn't anywhere to be seen, but the acrid smell of smoke already pricked her nostrils, and she knew both that he wasn't far and that she didn't have much time. They were in a tiny village filled with innocent people, and whatever honorable code Zuko had previously followed was only good for tinder now.

He would not be thinking. He would only be releasing in a desperate attempt to make it all _stop_.

She skidded out into the street, not giving her mind time to mull over the flames licking an adjacent building before she doused it thoroughly with water. She was still running, and she spun around on a dime, looking for him and—

He stood in the center of the square, spitting flames at the sky like an enraged dragon. He yelled incoherently between spurts of fire, but she didn't need to hear the words to know what he was denying so vehemently. Another building had caught fire, sparks falling onto its dry thatched roof, and she dashed forward again, already focusing on the air surrounding the fledgling conflagration. She wrenched her arms down, and the water in the air abruptly condensed and followed the motion, drowning the flames in a hissing cloud of steam.

"Stay back!" she yelled at the wide-eyed villagers, who were doing what crowds usually do when endangered and were therefore watching in fascination. "I'll deal with him!"

They glanced at her and then back at the wild firebender, apparently weighing the benefits of obedience. And then they all inched back a few steps, giving her some space but not about to relinquish the opportunity to see something happen.

Katara rolled her eyes in irritation, but she could not focus on the audience. She approached Zuko swiftly, thinking as she did that she had never fought him in these conditions before. Yes, she had faced him in battle on several occasions, but he had always been in full possession of his faculties. She had been an obstacle, something that could be defeated and set aside; his rigorous honor would allow no more harm to come from him. But now she knew she would be seen as something that could only be thoroughly destroyed. Her life was at risk.

Not that she cared.

"Zuko!" she yelled, snatching his attention. And if the yell hadn't done it, the waterwhip to the back of his head would have sufficed.

He turned on her, snarling like a wolf, and punched two jets of fire at her. She hopped back a step, pulling a wall of water out of nowhere; the two elements connected, instantaneously sizzling into a clouding gout of steam. Wishing briefly that Aang were here—what better way to smother fire than to remove its air supply?—but knowing that was only a distraction, Katara swiftly re-condensed the steam, not desiring to deal with the handicap and wanting to keep some water on hand. Streaming it from thin air was alright, but it required a bit more focus than she was willing to give it.

She was already at enough of a disadvantage. She couldn't merely dodge; that would put the village in harm's way. So she would have to dispel each and every attack, which would wear her out in no time unless she managed to incapacitate him quickly…

In his emotional disarray, his movements were powerful and abrupt, but they lacked the usual flow of any bending style. As she had realized earlier, he wasn't trying to fight, only to destroy, and that fact gave her some leeway. There would be no strategy behind his actions, so she should be able to outthink him.

He dropped to his hands, spinning his legs around, and she recognized his trademark circle-kick and also knew she would never be able to diffuse that much fire. Focusing swiftly, she condensed and then froze the air immediately surrounding his feet, encasing them in blocks of ice. He crashed into the ground, growling and swearing, and before he had the chance to melt his makeshift shackles, she whipped her already-streamed water onto his body and coated him in a frozen cocoon.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, he mocked her.

_I rise with the sun._

Just as he had done all those years ago in the North Pole, he superheated his entire body, getting so hot that the ice sublimated directly into steam. And in the split second before she could retrieve the evaporated water and regain her sight, he forced a drill of fire at her.

The flames slammed powerfully into her chest, knocking her clear off her feet; she thudded against the hard dirt, striking her shoulder and hip, and the momentum of the blast kept her rolling until she smacked into the wall of a house. Tears seared her eyes as she gingerly touched the back of her head, fingertips coming away slick and red with blood. She struggled to her feet, using the wall as support; her whole body ached, especially her ribs, and her vision was shaking and blurring disconcertingly. She had hit her head hard, and she wouldn't be too surprised if she had momentarily blacked out.

Gloving her hand in water, she applied it to her skull, wincing as the healing glow eased the pain away and the injury with it. That was it for the surface wound, but the impact had jarred her thoroughly, and the concussive effects were still playing games with her balance and sight.

And then blinding yellow filled the air, and she dropped instinctively to the earth, her bruised ribs immediately protesting the move. Zuko's attack bore into the wall behind her, flames licking greedily at the edges of the shallow, blackened hole. As she rolled to her feet, Katara bent a waterwhip into the house, curling it back around her body once she stood erect again. She spared the building a brief glance to confirm her success, and her stomach twisted as she glimpsed a spattering of her blood low on the wall.

She threw water to the ground, freezing it into a sled in midair, and she was skidding past Zuko before the distraught firebender even saw her move. She could do this, she thought, even though her mind was still a bit fuzzy. If she could be faster than him, that would be a definite advantage…

But for what? She couldn't catch him in ice, and that was the waterbender's trump card—at least, as long as you didn't want to kill your opponent. She flicked a curve of ice into the ground ahead, riding into it like a surfer into a cresting wave and swiftly changing her direction; Zuko's flames burned harmlessly into the dirt.

As she had flicked the ice forward, though, she had caught a glimpse of the red fluid still staining her fingers.

Blood.

Could she…?

Her first thought was a fierce denial—there was no way she would do that to him. Her second was slightly more rational—there wasn't a full moon anyway, so she _couldn't_ bloodbend.

But as she gracefully and tauntingly zigzagged around him, she began to wonder. Hama was the one who had told her that it only worked during a full moon, and she had taken the woman at her word; it _was_ waterbending's strongest time. But she had also managed to wrest control of her body back from the crazed elder, proving that she was the more powerful, more capable waterbender.

And if bloodbending at the "right" time was no effort, then perhaps with effort she could do it whenever she so wished. Hadn't Pakku told her that she'd shown more natural ability than he'd ever seen? Wasn't she Sifu Katara, still able to best the Avatar himself with her native element?

She glanced up at the blue sky and felt it was no accident that she glimpsed a ghostly crescent moon washed out almost entirely by the sun. It was always there, after all.

Come on, Yue, don't let me down, she uttered in quick, silent prayer.

Katara leapt off her ice sled, allowing it to crash and explode against a tree trunk in a highly distracting way. She needed all the time she could get to pull this off—forcing it might take awhile. She slid into the strange stance and reached out with her bending.

There—pounding crazily. Zuko's heart.

Her fingers curled, as if she were a predator sinking her teeth into her prey: getting a hold of him. And she focused on the rush of blood through his veins, the powerful movements of his muscles, the heaving of his lungs. She imbibed the sensations until they became one with her own, her shoulders shaking with the strength of his translated pants, her heart thudding madly in time with his.

She cracked open one eye, knowing that not all the exertion wracking her frame was his. He was punching, flames gathering at his fist. He was also at point-blank range, and he might as well have skipped the fire and just landed his knuckles in her face.

Your blood is my blood, she thought in that drawn-out instant…

_Stop!_

And for a terrible millisecond, she feared she had failed. But then the sensations shifted, and she was aware of his skin against her fingers, more distantly of his heart cradled in her palm.

She opened both eyes and studied his frozen form. His eyes, wide and bloodshot, were darting in all directions as he sought a reason for his sudden inability to move. Tearstains were still apparent on his pale cheeks, and she suddenly remembered why this had happened in the first place—in the headiness of battle, it had slipped her mind.

Ursa was dead. His mother was dead.

"Zuko…" she breathed, empathy slamming into her with all the force that she'd struck the wall with. She reached out with careful metaphorical fingers and forcibly slowed his heart and lungs, making him relax. Slowly, in increments, she saw rationality bleed back into his eyes, the wild abandon from before all but suppressed.

But she knew it wouldn't disappear. The pain never disappeared.

Full comprehension hadn't returned yet, so she retained grudging control of his body and made him walk beside her as she returned to the storehouse beyond the village's edge, reassuring the still-ogling townsfolk and making sure they wouldn't follow and gawk. She didn't release the bloodbending until she had made him sit down in the building's far corner, where they had set up their makeshift camp.

Once he regained control of his limbs, he slumped limply, burying his head in his hands. She stayed standing for a moment before she crouched in front of him, her hands tentatively brushing his shoulders; she was peripherally afraid that he might shatter at the slightest touch.

He flinched but not enough to indicate her retreat, and she shifted her position so that he fell against her chest, her chin resting in his hair.

His hands fisted fiercely in her robe, and his arms were so tight on her sides that her ribs ached acutely, but she made no complaint.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled at length, his voice thick with more tears. "I—I shouldn't have—"

"Shh," she soothed, sifting one hand through his hair and rubbing the other up and down his back. "I'm okay, I'm okay. Don't dwell on it."

He shook his head, not in any specific denial, and she felt his forehead rolling on her collarbone, his tears hot where they landed on her bare skin and trickled down her collar; they weren't the most pleasant of sensations, but she was hardly doing this for her own good.

"I can't…I can't believe…" he said hoarsely, and he dragged her even closer, crushing their bodies together. She let him, knowing that whatever pain she experienced from the more intense embrace was trivial compared to his. And he needed her.

"I'm here," she said softly, his breath distractingly warm on her neck. "I'm here. I won't leave you. I'll help you through this."

He made a gesture which may have been a nod, or it might have been a negative shake; she couldn't really tell. "It hurts," he whimpered, again like that small, frightened child. "It hurts so much."

She let out a sigh and held him a little tighter. "I know," she acknowledged truthfully, the shards of her heart piercing her uncomfortably. Her eyes briefly shut. "Spirits, I know."

"I just can't…she can't be…after all this time…" He buried his face in the crook of her neck, swiftly dampening the skin with his sadness. "It's like this gaping hole…'s been ripped in my chest…Agni, it _hurts_…"

She swallowed her own tears, at a loss for words, and ran her fingers through his hair again.

"Make it stop," he pleaded, hands fisting anew in her robe and tugging at the fabric. It almost sounded like a command.

"I wish I knew how," she whispered, ignoring the strain of the cloth on her shoulders. Spirits, didn't he know that if she could make this go away, she would? She would bend time itself if she were able, but not even bloodbending could turn back the clock. Nothing in the world could ever change this.

"We were going to be a family again," he said, a touch of anger in his tone once more. "We were going to be happy. It was going to be perfect. Why'd she have to die?" The last sentence was barely audible.

She turned her head and pressed a kiss into his hair, unable to speak and having no answers except hollow, trite clichés anyway.

He relaxed perceptibly at that.

"Make it stop," he beseeched her again.

It was less than a whisper.

"I don't know how," she apologized, somewhat surprised when he eased away from her, raising his head so that his eyes met hers. He loosened his hands, one lifting to touch her cheek, slipping down to angle her jaw.

"Yes, you do," he returned softly, breathlessly, and he gently claimed her lips with his.

She slid into the kiss with unnerving speed, forgetting absolutely everything for an infinite moment, only aware of the warm pressure of his lips. But then she pulled away, already dizzy and feeling conflicted. "Z-Zuko, you don't…you don't want…"

In response, he kissed her again, making this one harder, hotter, deeper. And again, her surrender was instantaneous, and she made no protest when he pulled her around so that she was slouched against the wall, her mind too foggy to even consider such a reaction. He tangled a hand in her hair, the other still angling her face to meet his, and her own fingers dug into the nape of his neck and his shoulder and dragged him closer, suddenly as desperate for this as he was.

He kissed her with undeniable urgency, as if he sincerely believed this would make reality disappear.

She sincerely hoped it would, if only for his sake.

Maybe it would be enough. Maybe for a moment or two he'd be wracked with a different kind of sensation. Maybe feeling anything as intensely as the pain was what he needed.

Maybe when it was over, it wouldn't just have been her comforting him.

Maybe it would've been—

She arched against his hand.


	14. quatorze

* * *

_**Beyond the Rising Sun**_

_**xiv.**_

The warm glow of late afternoon diffused the shadowy interior of the storehouse into a dark golden haze, dust motes drifting languidly in the scattered streaks of sunlight. From somewhere outside, birdsong seemed to add to the quiet instead of detracting from it, and there was the distant soughing of wind in the trees.

When Zuko opened his eyes, he found himself gazing at Katara.

She was lying on her side, her fingers and legs still twined and tangled with his. Her lips were slightly parted, her shallow yet deep breaths disturbing a stray curl that fell across her mouth.

His heart clenched, but it wasn't the same painful reaction from hours earlier. It was softer, warmer, and a smile as quiet as the afternoon curved the corners of his mouth.

Agni, he loved her.

Shifting slightly—enough to move his free hand but not so much as to disturb her—he brushed his knuckles against her cheek, almost as if to prove to himself that she were real, that he hadn't imagined any of it. But when she nuzzled into his touch, seeking him even in sleep, he felt a weight he hadn't even been aware of evaporate from his heart.

He relaxed back into the blanket, unable to contain his smirk when he recalled the series of events that had led to Katara declaring the blanket _damn good enough_ to serve as a bed. His hand slipped down her face, fingertips tracing the edge of her jaw before trailing down her throat. His relatively light mood dissipated as he touched the pendant on her necklace.

He had touched it before, of course, all those years ago when he'd found it on that just-liberated prison. He winced when he recalled that he had taunted her with it, this last keepsake of her mother.

His hand briefly fisted. So much had happened today, and it wasn't all good. He had found Ursa only to lose her to an incurable illness in an unspeakably cruel twist of fate. His chest tightened, and he felt tears pricking his eyes before he forced himself to focus. This wasn't as he had envisioned it before—no, this wasn't one step forward and two steps back.

This was losing something and gaining something else.

One kind of love gone, another love found.

He didn't think he would go so far as to call it an even trade…no, it still hurt too much in his soul for that to be the case. But the edge had dulled a little, some of the emptiness had filled. He wasn't completely and utterly devastated any longer.

He still had Katara.

Smiling faintly as he drank in the sight of her again, he carefully unlaced their fingers and reached down for the second blanket draped across their hips. She was probably cold, considering their state of mutual undress. But as he began tugging the material up, his eyes caught sight of something he hadn't noticed before in the blinding, intoxicating rush.

His smile morphed into a frown, and a shiver crept into the back of his mind, although he wasn't immediately aware why. There, right in the center of her abdomen, that looked like…

His fingers, which had been moving to investigate, paused a hair's-breadth from discolored skin.

…bruises.

His brow crumpled, and he swiftly scanned the rest of her—when had this happened? To the increase of that amorphous fear in his subconscious, he located another blotchy patch of shadows on her shoulder and a third on her hip. He let his fingers skim across the bruises, grateful now that she was a deep sleeper; he didn't want her to wake up to this. But how…?

His mouth went dry as hazy memories recalled themselves. He had been so consumed with grief that he only had bits and pieces of the immediate past, but…but he knew on some level that he had lost control and started firebending, and that she had stopped him. It made sense that there would have been some sort of battle, and…

And…

His hand retreated after covering the damning evidence with the blanket, and he pulled himself away from her, bile rising in his throat. He reclaimed his clothes from their scattered locations and jerked them on sloppily, too preoccupied to pay much attention to the actions. He wasn't even aware he was clenching his jaw until his temples began to throb from the pressure.

He had done that to her, hadn't he.

He'd hurt her.

Zuko clapped a hand to his mouth, as if to hold back the bile, which now mixed blackly with self-loathing. He knew on a logical level that he'd encountered her in battle before, but he'd never had to see the resulting damage before, either. And he certainly hadn't physically attacked her since…since…had it been since that fateful fight in the catacombs of Ba Sing Se? Even then, he'd done his best not to cause her undue harm, just to hold her off.

But now…he had…

The chasm in his heart reopened, no longer possessing any measure of cover. Despair and disgust overwhelmed him, and he staggered out of the storehouse, barely making it to a clump of bushes before his stomach finally, unstoppably rebelled.

But all he spat was acid.

* * *

Katara was first aware of warm contentment swirling lazily in her belly. Even before she opened her eyes, a satisfied little smile curved her lips. She cuddled deeper into the blanket, trying not to derive too much happiness from rather recent memories; it was all because of such loss, but still…still, she couldn't say that she was upset it happened. Quite the contrary, actually.

And to think that just a week ago she would've waterbent anyone's ass who suggested she would kiss Zuko, let alone make love with him. It was rather funny how the world worked sometimes.

She reached out blindly with one hand, expecting to encounter him; it was a bit cool, even with the blanket, and she wanted his firebender's warmth…but her fingers only swiped empty air. Brows slanting together, she finally opened her eyes and observed the lack of Zuko her hand had already identified.

A chill had only gotten halfway down her spine before she reasoned that she must have rolled over sometime. She might have fallen asleep after him—he had been exhausted, all those days of little or no sleep piling up, not to mention that he had exerted himself quite a bit in the space of an hour—but that was no guarantee that she would've held her initial position.

It was only when she rolled onto her back and turned her head and still didn't find Zuko that the faint fear bubbled up again.

Clutching the blanket to her chest in an unnecessary concession to modesty, Katara levered herself up onto her elbows, scanning the immediate vicinity. But she couldn't see him, and even with all the boxes everywhere, she should have been able to hear him, at the very least. The only things worth mentioning were her clothes, draped on various crates in similar states of uncaring disarray. She didn't neglect to notice that his were nowhere to be seen.

She gained her feet, somewhat stiffly, wrapping the blanket around her slender frame. There might have been no one around to see, and if Zuko walked back in, it wouldn't exactly matter anymore, now would it? But if one of the villagers happened to enter, perhaps searching for her in connection with the late Fire Lady, and found her in this less-than-proper state, that would be more than uncomfortable.

She retrieved the various pieces of her outfit, flushing as she recalled exactly how she'd lost each article, but the heat drained from her cheeks when she continued contemplating Zuko's absence. She numbly pulled her clothes on as her thoughts began to race. He could have simply stepped outside for…for a breath of fresh air, perhaps, or they'd finally run out of food, or…or…

He had just left for a second: she wanted to believe that—_needed_ to believe that more than the other possibility gnawing at the edges of her heart, making her feel sick and somehow hollow. The possibility that Zuko hadn't really wanted this, wanted her.

That his actions had been entirely spawned by his grief and pain.

That he even regretted it.

She fisted a hand in her robe, as if by clutching the material above her heart she could soothe its ache. She couldn't even bear imagining what it would be like to be dismissed after prying herself so wide open, and it was all made worse by the knowledge that she had set herself up for this. She had willingly surrendered to this ultimate vulnerability and given herself to him, and he had taken every last offered drop.

She only hoped she might get some of it back.

Spirits, please, she begged in the awful silence in her head. Don't let this die, too.

Distractedly smoothing the wrinkles from her robe, Katara navigated the crates and emerged out into the now-late afternoon sunlight, the canopy of leaves casting dappled shadows on her skin. Her best friend—Twi and La, no matter what else happens, please let that survive!—wasn't hard to find; he was sitting with his back to her, his legs drawn to his chest and his arms hooked around them.

She didn't move into his line of sight. She was too afraid of what she might be able to read in his eyes.

"Here you are," she said softly instead, doing her level best to stamp the quaver out of her tone.

He flinched as her voice interrupted his self-imposed exile, but he made no other acknowledgment of her presence.

Dread leaked into her stomach, drip by icy drip, and it took all her self-control to swallow the sob that rose in her throat. Her hands curled into such fierce fists that she absently worried her fingers would snap from the strain.

"I…I hope you slept well," she managed to continue, knowing that was the most useless thing she possibly could have said. "You needed the rest."

His head bowed further, his brow resting on his forearms, and he spoke into the shadow created by his hunched form. "Katara…" Her name escaped on a thick exhale, sounding like a plea. "Don't…don't be like this…not after…"

Her eyes closed as his words sank in, her lashes suddenly as heavy as lead. He did regret her.

She didn't know how the words escaped her mouth—her throat was so swollen with unshed tears speaking should have been impossible. "I…I'm sorry, Zuko. I shouldn't have…I should've been able to stop…I just—"

She stumbled to a halt when he looked at her sharply, and some still functioning part of her mind was bewildered to see pain on his face, too.

His mouth fell open, but he did not say anything for a long moment. Finally, though, after several wordless movements of his lips, he croaked, "What do _you_ have to be sorry for? I'm the one who hurt you!"

The bewilderment enveloped the rest of her consciousness, and she shifted her weight, feeling equally unstable physically as she did emotionally. "Wh-what are you talking about?" she asked, blindsided and wishing that she knew what was going on. She had a niggling feeling they were holding two entirely unrelated conversations.

His brow furrowed, only confirming that theory. "What am I talking about?" he echoed, incredulous, and he gestured vaguely towards her with one hand. "Didn't you see the bruises? They're all over you, and _I_ put them there. I'm a monster—how could I do that to you?"

The last part was a whisper, and he looked away as he said it.

Katara stared at him several seconds longer before she hesitantly placed a hand on her abdomen—yes, her ribs were twinging a little, and she remembered being struck by his explosion during the battle, but she hadn't thought…Fumbling in her haste, she unfastened the front of her robe and looked quizzically at her stomach. The skin was mottled in ghastly hues of purple and yellow, and she winced at the sight.

But then she gloved one hand in water, applying the healing technique to her wounded flesh. Zuko glanced back, his attention caught by the cool glow, and he simply stared when she ceased bending to reveal flawless tan skin.

"No harm done," she said, emphasizing her statement by prodding the previously wounded area unflinchingly. "I'm fine, just fine. And I already told you not to feel bad about losing control—I know how much it hurts, and what that hurt can do."

_No, Mom, no! Daddy, don't let them take her away! Mama!_

She shut her eyes as her own voice echoed in her memory, but she shook herself of the sorrow and refocused resolutely on the present. Closing her robe, she chanced a look at Zuko; he was still sitting in the same position, his mouth once again flapping uselessly.

"But…but I…" he protested, determined to castigate himself.

She crouched in front of him and rested her hands on his shoulders, but he staggered backwards—if that were even possible while sitting—and lurched to his feet. He retreated a good dozen feet, leaving her as confused as ever and somewhat stung by his adverse reaction.

"Stay away from me," he said, and she wasn't given enough time to cringe properly before he hurried on. "Don't come near me. I can't trust myself anymore. Not when I can just turn on you like that." He shook his head, though the recipient of such denial was left unexplained, and held his arms tightly at his sides. "I never should have dragged you into this. I should have left you with the Avatar, where you were safe." He swallowed hard, the words doing their best not to escape his mouth.

"You were better off with Aang. He would never hurt you."

Katara stared at him, feeling as lost as if her waterbending had suddenly disappeared. How could he be suggesting that she leave him now? After all that had just happened, he expected her to just walk away and resume her previous life as if it'd never been interrupted? Was he insane?

But she found herself saying different words. "Well, that's not entirely true," she pointed out.

Zuko looked at her so sharply she nearly heard his neck crack, distance notwithstanding. "What?" he blurted incredulously. "Are you saying Aang hurt you? When? I'll kill him!"

Under better circumstances, Katara might have been amused by his sudden switch from brooding and isolated to fiercely protective, but as it were, she merely shook her head. "Calm down," she said, but the rebuke in her voice was halfhearted. "It was years ago, back before the Siege of the North. Aang had just started learning firebending from Jeong Jeong—you remember him; he's in the White Lotus Society—and he got overeager. He tried a move that was too much for him, and I was an idiot, hanging around so close, and I ended up getting burned."

Because that did not seem to deter the Fire Lord's wrath, Katara hastily added, "It turned out okay, though. I actually ended up learning that I had healing abilities, and…" She trailed off and actually smiled faintly. "I really liked that timing. I had just learned—too well—that firebending was so easy to lose control of, but that was alright, because I had this balancing technique. At the time, I figured if Aang ever lost control firebending again, I would be able to put it right."

She met Zuko's gaze squarely, and for the first time he didn't seem inclined to let his slip aside. "But now I realize that I can put it right for you, too."

He exhaled, his frame relaxing only marginally and only for an instant. "I don't want it to be like that, Katara," he imparted softly, wearily. "I don't want it to be okay to hurt you just because you can fix it afterwards. I never, ever want to hurt you again."

"And I believe that," she replied, her voice equally soft. "I do. You're so careful with your meditation, so aware of your limits—I can't imagine how you would ever lose it again. It's not as if—"

She stopped herself abruptly, nearly choking on her unfinished sentence. How had she been about to refer to _that_ so casually, so callously? She actually raised a hand to her mouth and turned apologetic eyes on Zuko.

He made a vague, dismissive motion. "I get it. It's fine—it's true. As long as you and Uncle stay in perfect health, I'll never have to experience that much…that much…well, that much again," he concluded awkwardly, finally glancing away.

"Nothing's going to happen to me," she assured him, closing half the space between them in a few strides. "Because I know you won't let anything, from yourself or otherwise. I trust you."

He snorted weakly. "Huh. You, trust me? When did that happen?"

Relief trickled into her system, grateful that he had gotten to a sarcastic stage. And so she replied in kind, only partially teasing, "I think it had something to do with the lightning."

Zuko didn't need any more reference than that, and he nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes I still can't…but Azula was, well, Azula back then, so I'm not really surprised. And in the end, I couldn't let you die—how could I? You were…you were so…"

She tilted her head to one side, a smirk flickering into existence. "I was so what?" she prompted.

Amber eyes caught azure, and her breath caught at the sheer seriousness in those irises. "Beautiful," he replied, barely audible. "I don't mean in appearance—although you are," he tacked on, a fragment of lightheartedness there and gone. "I mean…all the way through. The way you managed to forgive me, even after all that I'd done; really, I wouldn't blame you if you never had. And how you let me in after that, so fast and so close…I've never known anyone quite like you."

He lowered his eyes, focusing on the ground as she meandered a few steps closer, now only an arm's length away. His arms remained locked at his sides, and he shook his head and whispered, "You're too good for me, Katara. I don't deserve you. I never have."

She cuffed his shoulder before raising that hand to trail feather-light down his scarred cheek; he didn't jerk away this time, but he didn't reciprocate, either. "Don't make _me_ hurt _you_," she chided gently, and she tilted his face up; he hesitantly returned her gaze. She smiled faintly, crookedly. "Have you ever thought that maybe I don't deserve you?"

"You deserve the world," he insisted.

She grinned briefly. "Maybe so. But all I want is you."

His eyes widened, and he searched hers, as if he wanted to find a scrap of insincerity. But there was none to be found, and his lips slowly curved upwards in the quietest, most genuine smile she'd ever seen.

* * *

The sun was setting beyond the trees, but the shadows were not too long yet in the second floor of Gensu's house. The window in Ursa's room faced west—faced _home_—and the shallow golden rays gave the chamber an ethereal glow and tinted her pale skin in a last wash of color.

Zuko stood at the foot of the bed, his arms hanging limp and heavy at his sides, the locket gripped tightly in one hand. He was dimly aware of Katara and Gensu conversing quietly downstairs, but he couldn't make out their words, not that he cared enough to eavesdrop.

This was his final farewell.

Not bothering to fight the tears that welled anew in his eyes, Zuko slowly strode to his usual seat, the mattress bowing beneath his weight. The Elder had already begun making the necessary preparations, but the shroud did not yet cover Ursa's face, which was now eternally serene.

He couldn't quite believe that he had been speaking to her only that morning. A scant twelve hours had passed, and yet absolutely everything had changed.

Too much emotion clogged his throat, delaying his goodbye, and so he cracked open the locket instead, glancing between the portrait and the woman in the bed. She looked so similar, really, and he numbly lifted the curled lock of hair and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. To think that he had defied all the odds to find her, only to lose her.

He wanted to think the fates were cruel. But maybe, in some twisted, backwards way, they were kind for allowing him one last week. Maybe it all, somehow, made sense in the end.

His movements slow and somewhat stiff, Zuko tied off another small section of his mother's hair and pulled out a penknife. The keen edge of the blade made quick work of the raven strands, and he studied the second bundle of her hair for a pained moment before he tucked it inside the locket as well and closed the lid with a quiet click.

As if that sound were his cue, he found the strength to speak.

"I guess this is goodbye for now, Mom," he murmured sadly, glancing back at her still features. "I'll see you again someday, on the other side, I promise you that. Maybe I can get Aang to let me cross over sooner."

He shook his head faintly at that and added with the subtlest of smiles, "I'm sure you'll be able to track down Katara's mother. If she's anything like her daughter, you'll get along just fine."

His jaw clenched then, his expression growing taut as sorrow tangled his heart once more. "I know you saved my life back then," he revealed quietly. "And I think that's why you didn't come home—it'd be too hard, wouldn't it? Even though you felt you had to do it…It must have been awful, knowing you let _him_ onto the throne, knowing how he only escalated Fire's cruelty. Knowing that Uncle Iroh probably would have stopped the war like he'd stopped assaulting Ba Sing Se."

Zuko shook his head slightly, needing to dismiss his what-ifs before they brought him down an even more painful road. "So I wanted to thank you for giving it all up to save me, and for everything you've ever done, especially for looking out for me and loving me. You are so much the reason I became the man you're so proud of. Thank you."

He slipped the locket back around his neck, the metal cool where it rested against his skin beneath his tunic, and he rose to his feet and offered a deep Fire Nation bow. And then he leaned in and brushed his lips against her unresponsive forehead.

"I love you, Mom," he whispered. "Sweet dreams."

Zuko straightened and, with slow ceremony, pulled the shroud over her face, tucking it in carefully. He had only just retrieved the vial of her perfume from the bedside table and pocketed it when a thin voice broke the silence.

"Forgive my interruption, Lord Zuko," Gensu said. "I merely wanted to see how you were."

The younger man nodded dully. "As good as could be expected," he said, turning to face the Elder. "I wanted to apologize again for—"

Gensu waved one hand, cutting the firebender off. "You need not, my lord. Your formal apology before was enough. Besides, the circumstances push us to consider compassion, and Sifu Katara minimized the damage to a very appreciable degree." He paused thoughtfully, studying the other man for a lengthy interval before he added, "She is a powerful bender, and an amazing woman. You are very lucky to know her."

Zuko nodded again. "Believe me, I know," he replied sincerely.

Gensu held his silence for several seconds. "I would like to thank you, my lord, for performing the traditional last rite here. It was a very generous gesture, and we all appreciate it."

The firebender waved one hand dismissively. "No, it's nothing. My mother lived here with you for nine years, so it's only fitting that you should all be able to attend at least part of the ceremony. And I hardly thought you'd all want to come to the Fire Nation capital for the actual…for the actual funeral."

The Elder bobbed a slow bow in acknowledgment, and when he straightened, he glanced at the former Fire Lady before meeting Zuko's eyes. "Are you ready, then, my lord?"

Zuko's jaw clenched, and in answer, he balanced one knee on the bed and gathered his mother's shrouded body in his arms, balancing the brunt of her weight against his chest. He marginally adjusted his grip, trying not to think too much about what he was doing, and followed Gensu from the room and down the stairs. He caught sight of Katara when they walked to the door; she was waiting for them, and when she saw them, her eyes briefly closed and she reached up with one hand to clutch Kya's necklace.

He flinched inwardly at the sight—this had to be so awful for her, too—but his own sorrow surged to the fore, and he didn't know how he managed to step out into the dusky light and make it to the pyre constructed in the center of the square. He set Ursa's body on the carefully stacked wood and stepped back, vaguely aware that Gensu was speaking.

But he couldn't make out the words, deafened with emotion, and he barely noticed Katara next to him. He couldn't focus on anything but what he was about to do—the final, irrevocable last rite of the Fire Nation.

Somehow he realized that the Elder had ceased his eulogy, and Zuko walked closer to the pyre, his mouth dry and his chest aching. And somehow he cleared his throat and spoke, loudly enough so that all the assembled could hear.

"We, the children of Agni, are born in fire, and we die in fire. Fire Lady Ursa, I return your body to ash so that, like the phoenix, your soul may be freed for its new life in the Spirit World."

He bent in another deep bow, and tears seared his eyes as he slipped into a firebending stance. He grit his teeth so hard his head hurt, and he paused, needing a moment to regain his composure. He didn't want to do this; he didn't want to watch this, her slow degradation to dust…

No no no, this can't be happening, none of this is real, it can't be—

—In and out. In and out. Fire is in the _breath_.

"Goodbye, Mom," he whispered, and he punched forth a powerful burst of flame. He was only dully surprised that the fire started out brilliant and blue: the hotter it was, the swifter this would be over.

He retreated to Katara's side, the pyre already hot enough to project waves of heat, and he did not relax when she gripped his hand in hers. He shut his eyes, but he could see the glow through his lids, and he could feel the dry heat on his skin. He could not escape this.

It was over now.

His mother was well and truly gone.

They lingered long after the villagers had paid their last respects, and when the fires had finally died, Zuko numbly collected the ashes before the wind could carry them away.

* * *

Sand sank beneath his boots, and the highest, foamy waves swept close and swallowed his shallow footprints. The breeze off the ocean was stiff, and he closed his eyes, allowing it to ruffle his hair and caress his skin. He inhaled deeply, drawing solace once more from the comforting scent of the vagrant wind and the salty brine and the endless blue.

The tautness in his shoulders loosened as he stood there, half-caught in a reverie, and he could almost believe that he was just here for the nostalgia or the scenery. That he had been compelled to visit Ember Island for some reason other than his mother's passing.

Zuko's grip tightened briefly on the small, ornate urn he carried, and he slowly opened his eyes, his vision blurred with a different kind of salt water.

"I almost forgot how beautiful this place was," Katara observed quietly, idly playing with the tides as she came to a halt beside him. "Back before the comet, I didn't wholly appreciate it. Too much had to still happen, I guess," she concluded with a soft exhale of a laugh.

He blinked a few times, reciting his meditation's mantra to regain his composure. At length, he remarked hoarsely, "Mom always loved it here. She loved the beach and the sea; it's a bit far away in the capital, and…well, there weren't any responsibilities here. We could just…be a family. An ordinary family."

He shifted his footing, finding better purchase in the damp sand. "This was the only place we ever were remotely ordinary, or remotely like a family. I remember that Mom used to try to get…to get him to bring us here more often, and sometimes she'd win, and we'd drop by for a long weekend or something. It was…it was all so _simple_ back then."

Katara listened without interruption, her arms folding on her chest as she gazed out across the turquoise shallows towards where the sea merged hazily with the sky.

"I suppose that's why I wanted to come," Zuko mused, glancing down at the earthenware container. "Or maybe it's because I don't want to go home yet. Heh, maybe I just don't know anything anymore."

She studied him sidelong, concern shading her expression. "Perhaps we should go up to the house," she suggested gently. "I should probably start making dinner, anyway. We didn't eat much on the voyage here."

He didn't move or even acknowledge the fact that she'd spoken. "She always loved the beach," he echoed wistfully. "I…I think she'd like to stay here. Where we were happy."

She didn't need to ask what he was talking about; it wasn't hard to decipher. She watched instead as he slowly—and with great care—unscrewed the lid of the jar and gave it a shake. Ashes drifted out, catching on the breeze, and scattered: some to the shore, some to the ocean, and others stayed airborne, dancing out of sight on the wind's back.

He remained in pensive silence for several minutes, but at length he reclosed the urn. "That was about half," he commented blandly, as if he didn't expect anyone to care to listen. "I'll need the other half for…for the formal…for the…"

"I know, Zuko," Katara interrupted softly, not wanting to see him continue to struggle with the concept.

He turned, but he only walked a few paces up the beach, just getting out of the range of the tide line, before he slumped onto soft golden sand. He set the jar aside, tucking it into a little cradle of sand, and loosely hooked his arms around his half-bent legs, one hand gripping the other wrist. He stared unseeingly at the waves, and Katara sat beside him, drawing her knees to her chest and waiting.

"I don't…want to go home yet because I don't want it to be real," he confessed, barely audible, after more minutes had flown into the past. "To be really real. Coming here…it's almost like it was all just a bad dream or something, one that I'll wake up from sooner or later. But if I have to go back and notify everyone and have the ceremony…it'll be too real. And it's too soon."

Katara nodded absently. "I know what you mean, about it being too soon. And you can take your time, Zuko; no one's going to rush you. Not in this."

He shifted slightly, digging his heels more into the giving ground. He remained mired in pensive silence for some time, the only sound the waves lapping at the shore, ever gaining ground only to recede once more, forever playing the waterbender's game of push and pull.

He inhaled slowly and exhaled just as slowly, his eyebrows slanting together. "You know…I was wondering, but…but you don't have to tell me, of course. I just wanted to know."

"What is it?" she asked, curious, and she tucked wind-teased curls behind one ear, clearing her view of him.

He stared steadfastly at his hands, but he did spare her a brief glance. "What's it like in the Water Tribe?"

Again, she didn't require clarification. She sighed, a long, low breath, and her brow pinched ever so slightly. "It's…completely different," she began, her tone somehow as distant as her eyes. "Like you, our ceremony reflects our element, but that's where the similarities end. Instead of fire and ashes, we give the dead a last journey, setting them adrift in a canoe. It's called 'returning to the sea', and…" She trailed off, memories and their emotions stealing her voice, and she bit her lip.

"It's not a story I like to tell," she added at length, even though he had not prompted her.

Zuko almost moved to embrace her, but something in his gut told him to hold off, not yet. So he sat there instead and shrugged. "You don't have to say anything," he told her.

She nodded at that, her attention fixated on her interwoven fingers. "I suppose, but…I never _have_ told it before, and I can't imagine who else I would want to share this with."

"Then I'll listen," he replied. He didn't how well either of them would deal with the recounting of Kya's final voyage, but he sensed that it still ought to be said. Another bond forged between them, another layer added to their already extensive weave until absolutely nothing could tear them apart.

Katara gazed somewhere beyond the horizon. "It was the worst day of my life, and for some reason, I remember so clearly that it was sunny…"

_The sun reflected off the snow, blindingly bright despite the relative weakness of its rays. There was no warmth from the arctic sun; only light, thin and watery, that willingly imprisoned itself in a hundred thousand crystalline facets._

_The snow crunched beneath Katara's boots, her weight breaking the thin frozen crust and turning her footprints into shallow, bluish cracks. This was not the kind of snow you could make anything out of, nor the kind that the wind, however swift and biting, could kick up into white whirls. No, this snow was already well on its way to becoming more solid than stone and far colder and unyielding than rock could ever aspire to be._

_It was hard and flat and pure __**cold**__, just like that Fire Nation soldier's eye._

_Katara shivered, more from the memory than the wind, even though that came close to cutting straight through her thickly padded parka. She'd had nightmares about that eye, dreams that had ended with her sobbing and yelling for her mother and being comforted by someone else—once Gran-Gran, once Hakoda._

_She didn't quite get it. Why wouldn't her mother come? But whenever she asked her father or grandmother, they both would grow silent and still and not offer any satisfying answer. Katara knew something was wrong, of course, but it had been a few days, and Kya should have recovered by now, at least enough so that Katara could see her. But she and Sokka were barricaded from that hut and told vague, unhelpful things._

_The flap of the family tent was pushed aside, and her elder brother emerged, looking surprisingly somber. She had an amorphous notion that he knew—or at least suspected—more than she did, and it irked her slightly that he was holding out on her with this information._

_"What's keeping Dad?" she inquired instead, frowning a little and trying not to breathe too deeply: the air was __**too**__ clear, and it burned her nostrils and pierced her throat with each grudging inhalation._

_Sokka glanced at her, hunched into his own blue parka, and then he glanced away again._

_"Oh, come on," she protested, and she stamped one foot in annoyance. The snow cracked more from that added pressure, but it still refused to submit entirely. "He said he'd be right out 'cause we had to go somewhere."_

_Sokka shrugged, one rise and fall of his small shoulders, and he had that frustratingly aware look in his eyes again. "I dunno," he mumbled. "Soon, I guess."_

_Katara huffed, her breath escaping in an evanescent cloud, and she folded her arms imperiously on her chest. She was being kept out of a loop, and she was fast beginning to loath it. But she didn't have to wait much longer, as Hakoda emerged several minutes later, Kya's necklace still gripped in one gloved hand._

_And that bothered Katara as well. Surely her mother would want that back, so why did Hakoda insist on keeping it? And why did he always look so sad? Kya must be better by now…she had been hurt, but, really…why was it taking so long?_

_"Come, Sokka, Katara," Hakoda said gruffly, blandly, as if he hardly had the capacity to focus on anything._

_The children fell in step behind him, Sokka shuffling and Katara looking at him sidelong. Hakoda seemed so sad, and Sokka did, too…what did they know that she didn't? And why were they keeping it a secret?_

_She was about to voice this confusion when they arrived at a cluster of tribesmen; in fact, it looked like everyone in their small community was present. Katara's brow furrowed, and she reached up, tugging on her father's sleeve._

_"Dad, what's going on? Why's everyone here?"_

_He studied her for a long, pained moment, and she almost thought she saw tears in his eyes. But he didn't cry—he was the strongest and the bravest, he __**didn't cry**__—! He crouched down so that he was level with her, and he placed both his hands on her shoulders, dwarfing her in his larger grip._

_"Tara," he said softly, "we're here to…see your mother. To say goodbye."_

_Katara frowned more than ever, her forehead furrowing at this unexpected announcement. "What? But why would we do that? Where's she going? Does she need help from someone else? I want to go with her!"_

_Hakoda bowed his head and held that position for another heavy interval, but he met her eyes again soon enough. "No, my little penguin, you can't do that." He heaved a sigh and straightened to his full height, retaining a hold on her shoulder. "Come…this way…"_

_The chief guided the two children through the crowd, and Katara realized they were on the edge of the ice floe, that the unfrozen sea stretched out before them. Kana stood next to a ceremonial canoe, looking bleaker than the empty ocean, and the rest of her family moved to her side._

_Katara broke free of her father and peered over the lip of the slim boat. To her bewilderment, Kya lay inside, her hands folded on her chest, her eyes shut. But she didn't look right. She didn't look right at all._

_The young waterbender turned, fear shining in her cobalt eyes. "What's wrong with Mom? Why's she asleep? And why does she look so cold? Daddy, what's wrong with her?"_

_Hakoda swallowed and cast Kana a pleading glance; the elder understood the unspoken words and approached her granddaughter. "Darling," she said slowly, quietly, as if speaking louder or more quickly would shatter her already weak voice. "Your mother has to go away. She has to go on a journey, and we can't follow her. She has to visit Grandpa, and the Moon Spirit—you remember them, right?"_

_"Yeah, but…" Katara floundered, more confused than ever. "But what does that mean? We just need to get more boats—someone needs to get another boat! Then we can follow her, easy! Daddy, get another boat!"_

_She was almost yelling at the end. Somewhere, somehow, she sensed this was far more final than a simple canoe trip. She could tell that this boat, once gone, would never come back._

_Hakoda hurried over, his son on his heels. "Sokka, please take care of your sister," he said, and the boy interpreted that as grabbing onto Katara's arms from behind and dragging her a few paces away._

_"Sokka, stop! Stop! I want Mom! Mom, wake up! Mom!" Katara cried, struggling in her brother's grip, but to no avail; he'd always been stronger than her. But why wasn't Kya stirring? She always responded to her daughter's calls, always always always! It didn't matter if it were the middle of the night or if she were engaged in some other activity, her mother __**always**__ came._

_And she was so close! Katara __**knew**__ she could hear!_

_Hakoda closed his eyes briefly, as if some weight were burdening his lashes, but then he reopened them and began speaking in grave tones. Katara quieted, stilling her attempts to escape Sokka, and paid attention with half an ear, even as she continued to wonder why this situation was all so wrong._

_"In the Water Tribe, we all are born from Mother Ocean and watched over by Father Moon. With their guidance, we flourish and live. And when it is…when it is over, we return to their comforting embrace, sheltered once more in the circling arms of Twi and La."_

_Hakoda paused, appearing troubled, but then he resumed determinedly. "We who loved you, dearest Kya, set you on your last voyage and return you to the sea, sustained in the knowledge that you will always be there: in the water, in the moon, and in our hearts."_

_He motioned for his children, and they hesitantly obeyed, peeking over the boat's rim. Kana knelt on the other side, and the younger members waited for their cue. When the elders simply offered quiet, sad farewells, Katara and Sokka followed in suit, even though the former still didn't grasp the whole scenario. They had done this years ago with their grandfather, yes, but she couldn't really remember him, and it had never occurred to her to notice that he had never come back._

_But Hakoda gently pulled them away from the boat, and the children stumbled back, watching as their father waved Bato and another tribesman to the fore. They took up positions on either side of the canoe, and then, to Katara's terror, they shoved it off the ice and into the ocean._

_She struggled wildly against Hakoda's hand, which was vise-like on hers._

_"No, Mom, no! Daddy, don't let them take her away! __**Mama!**__"_

_Her voice broke on the last syllable, pitching her scream to a shriek._

_And she pulled free of her father's grasp, her mitten remaining clenched in his hand, and dashed forward, reaching for the canoe, for her mother. Hakoda caught her up almost instantly, sweeping her off her feet and back into his chest, not flinching as she fought his hold, legs kicking and hands stretching towards Kya's disappearing vessel._

_The waves obeyed her untutored gestures, bowing to the demands of the Southern Tribe's last waterbender. The canoe retreated, bobbing back towards the icy shore._

_"Mama! Come back! Mama!" she pleaded, tears streaming down her face and nearly freezing to her wind-chafed cheeks._

_"Tara, she won't come back—she's gone," Hakoda said urgently, holding her tighter in an attempt to smother her movements. He somewhat succeeded; her unconscious waterbending sputtered and failed, but she continued to flail._

_"She's not gone!" she cried. "She's right there! Mama!"_

_Sokka glared up at her, his own face wet with tears. "Don't you get it?" he snapped savagely, unable to stand her denial any longer; it was only exacerbating his already broken heart. "She's __**dead**!__"_

_Katara went utterly still at that, the color draining from her face, leaving only the red of the wind and the blue of her tears. She blinked slowly, several times, and stared numbly at the receding canoe, steadily sailing farther and farther away._

_"Sokka!" Hakoda said in sharp reprimand, and he knelt down, setting his daughter's unresponsive feet on the ground. She crumpled where she stood, still staring blankly after her mother, and was barely aware that he was speaking to her._

_"I'm sorry, Tara. I didn't mean what I said before—dead isn't the same as gone. You know Mom will always be with you, right? Here, in your heart," he said, motioning with a large hand. And then, after a moment of consideration, he proffered the necklace, its pendant shining in the weak rays of the weak sun._

_"Here," he said softly. "You should have this. She would have wanted you to have it, and now you'll always have something to remember what I said: that she's always with you."_

_Katara numbly allowed him to tie it around her neck; there was a lot of excess ribbon at the back, and it still sagged loosely. But at length she lifted her small, ungloved hand, frozen fingers curling around the bluish disk._

_The too-bright sun hurt her bloodshot eyes, and the too-sharp wind hurt her trembling lungs, and the too-real image of her mother's tiny vessel vanishing into the horizon hurt her hopelessly shattered heart._

_She knew one of those pains would never go away._

Katara drifted back to the present, unsurprised that her hand had risen and gripped her necklace on its own accord. Contrarily, she was surprised that her voice had remained largely steady throughout the retelling, that tears had gathered on but not fallen from her lashes. It was almost as if something had happened, as if by sharing this some of the weight had lifted from her heart, as if a scab had finally begun to form.

"But I guess I pulled myself together somehow," she added musingly. "Because the next day and every day after, it seemed, I was watching out for Sokka—he's such a hopeless cause," she remarked with a faint fond smile. "He was worse back then, and of course he absolutely refused to learn how to sew, regardless of how helpful it would've been. Dad left soon after, though, off to war, and Sokka got worse, so…" She trailed off, not entirely sure how to continue, not entirely sure if she even should.

"I get it, I get it," Zuko said, a shade of teasing in his tone. "Stop whining and get back to work. I've got a whole _country_ to take care of, though I daresay Sokka was more of a headache."

She looked at him for an elongated instant. "I didn't mean that at all, Zuko. I already told you that you can take all the time in the world to grieve this loss."

He shook his head slowly, still thinking it through as he spoke. "No, I know…but…I'll still miss her. I'll always miss her. It's not like salvaging a nation will distract me too much, and your example was a good one. I need to get back into my old routine, even though so much has changed in the meantime." He paused, glancing out over the sea. "I guess…we'll leave the day after tomorrow. I didn't say I'd just jump in the deep end, after all. I'd like to wade out a bit."

She nodded, and she nearly squeaked in surprise when he pulled her into a sideways hug; she was still holding onto her last connection to her mother, and the subsequent lack of balance caused her to fall into him.

"I forgot to thank you," he murmured into her hair, "for sharing that story with me."

She relaxed into Zuko's embrace, and eventually her fingers abandoned the necklace to hold onto him, instead.

* * *

Time passed almost pleasantly on Ember Island, even as they rehashed old memories, trading tales as they rooted through the attic of the royal family's abandoned house. The place was still damaged from that day before Sozin's Comet when Zuko had attempted to pound reality into Aang's head, but then again, he didn't have the resources to spare fixing it. All his time and most of his money were devoted to shoring up the crumbled foundations of his disgraced country, and anyway…

This place was somehow in the past. It seemed wrong to bring it into the future.

There was a surprising amount of boxes in the attic, and he wondered how much of the stuff had originated on Ember Island and how much his mother had brought from the capital. There were crude charcoal drawings, smeared from being stacked together, that once had been depictions of four familiar people, one familiar family. There were professional portraits, too, some individual and some group, and unlike before, Zuko rolled up and saved one of all of them.

Some determined digging unearthed tiny clothes, most likely his and Azula's, although it was possible that some of them were carryovers from his father's or even grandfather's generation. And in one of the furthest boxes, thick with dust, he retrieved a faded ink portrait of two young men; the inscription on the rear identified them as Sozin and Roku.

He studied it, glancing from one great-grandfather to the other, with a frown on his face. It still boggled his mind to think that he had descended from two of the most powerful men in recent history, even though it didn't surprise him at all to learn that his mother was a daughter of the Avatar's line.

When Katara asked why he looked so pensive, though, he brushed the matter aside. It really wasn't worth dredging up.

They finally descended hours later, sneezing and swiping at the ancient dust that had gathered with magnetic persistence on their clothing. They were each carrying a box, filled with the odds and ends that Zuko had seen fit to transfer to his permanent apartment in the palace. After setting the boxes in the cobwebbed and creaky kitchen, Zuko wandered off for a quick bath, almost eager to wash the past from his skin.

Maybe, he thought as cleansing, hot water coaxed the dust and the dirt away, this was what moving on was like. Maybe this was the first step towards that elusive destination called closure.

By the time he returned to the kitchen, Katara had mostly finished whipping up a quick meal, idly using her bending to stir the haphazard ingredients of the soup. Zuko installed himself in one of the chairs, taking care to brush the dust away first.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," he remarked.

She shrugged. "I don't know about you, but I was starving. It's hardly an effort anymore, anyway. I always cook." She laughed and added, "It's what I do. I'm Katara, master soup-bender."

He chuckled at that, and when his stomach voiced its approval moments later, he put a hand to it and grinned crookedly. "Guess I'm hungrier than I thought I was. Thanks."

"No problem," she replied airily, tapping a lingering dust bunny out of a fine china bowl. "I tell you, this place might be stocked and all, but you really must speak to the maid."

His grin broadened. "I'll get right on that," he said, accepting the bowl and appreciatively sniffing its now-dustless, steaming contents. He wiped off a spoon and tucked in, amused when Katara didn't even bother with utensils and simply bent the mouthfuls of soup directly.

Zuko had polished off his bowl in record time—she really did know her way around a pot, especially with such a random assortment of ingredients—and watched her continue her unique consumption for several silent, easy moments. But then he opened his mouth, and tension thickly filled the air.

"So…when we go back to the capital, what're you going to do?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him, a sphere of soup suspended in midair. "What d'ya mean?"

He made a side-to-side motion with his hands, a different sort of shrug. "Well, after everything happens that needs to happen…what will you do?" He paused, then asked with private dread, "Will you stay?"

She didn't answer right away and preoccupied herself with streaming the soup back into its bowl. Her mouth had opened and closed several times before any words were heard. "Admittedly, I hadn't thought about it. I was trying to take this one step at a time, kind of thing."

"Oh," he replied quietly. "Oh. Okay."

"Not that I object to the idea!" she salvaged hastily. "I just don't have any plan. The future is blank." She made an expansive motion, as if she were an artist referring to her canvas.

He nodded and added more lightly, "Well, you know where I'll be, in any case. Up to my eyeballs in paperwork and trying to remind myself that that's a good thing."

She laughed softly at that, but he could tell she was distracted. Probably thinking about all the things she hadn't had the time or energy to contemplate before. Especially that tricky _where do we go from here/what are we to each other _question. He realized that they hadn't addressed the matter at all; the grief had all come rushing back after they'd cleared up the guilt concerning her injuries—although the thought still stirred the acid in his stomach—and they had never circled back to the very momentous change in their relationship.

He didn't know what to think about it, let alone what to say, so he let the matter lie. He had never been particularly eloquent, anyway, and maybe just taking a path and sticking to it and seeing if she followed would be enough.

Katara finished her meal in silence, barely paying attention to what she had previously deemed a highly delicious repast. Zuko had, however accidently, opened up a Pandora's box, and she was torn between slamming the lid shut again and sorting through its contents, as they'd done in the attic.

The silence, though, had become companionable by the time Zuko assisted her with the dishes, which largely consisted of him handing her things and her waterbending them clean and dry. He replaced them in their respective cupboards, where they practically gleamed besides their dusty brethren, and she leaned against the kitchen's doorway, waiting for him to finish up. She might have stayed here before, back when the war still raged, but it was his house and therefore only polite to let him show her to a room.

Katara fell in step behind him when he brushed past her and climbed the stairs to the second storey. It was dark, as night had long since fallen, and he held a shivering collection of flames in one hand as he navigated the run-down hallways to the bedrooms. He peered into several chambers before he found one that suited whatever criteria, and he let the door swing wide as he padded in on cat's feet. She had followed him in and begun crossing to the bed, assuming that he was hanging about to check for…something, like demons or assassins or loose floorboards, but he beat her there.

And she froze in her tracks.

Zuko looked up at her from where he was already sliding under the covers, his brow furrowing. "What's wrong, Katara? You're just…standing there."

She swallowed, too many feelings weighing her down, too many thoughts competing for egress. It appeared she would be diving headlong into that box, after all. She stared at her hands, as if her fingernails were truly that fascinating, and confessed softly, "Zuko, I…I don't think I should stay with you. Tonight. Or…any night in the near future."

He frowned, watching her with a trace of wariness in his eyes. "Why?" he asked, his tone as far from accusatory as audibly possible, merely inquisitive.

Her fingers laced now, and she wrung them distractedly. "I…I just…spirits, Zuko, I'm not sure how to say this at all. Please just…bear with me. This might get a little long-winded, but hear me out to the end…it won't sound good right now, but…hang in there."

The wariness was replaced with concern, and he sat up, leaning forward with his arms on his loosely bent knees. "Alright. Go on. I promise I won't interrupt."

She exhaled heavily, the updraft disturbing the ever-present loops in her hair, and she closed her eyes. "What…what happened between us, back in the…well, you know what happened," she said, an almost-laugh riding the words, her cheeks flushing briefly in the darkness. "It was…it was amazing, spirits, it was amazing, but…it all happened so fast, you know? I barely had time to get used to the idea that I loved you, and then we were…and it was like we skipped to the end, see?"

He nodded once, acknowledging that point, and smiled fleetingly, indulgently at her admission before he continued devoting the whole of his attention to her.

She made a meaningless, incomplete gesture. "And that's not sitting right with me. I don't want to start at the end with you, Zuko. I want it all. I want everything, including the beginning. So I thought that…that maybe we could do that. Go back to the start."

He nodded again, slowly but firmly, and he looked a little relieved, as if he had been expecting far worse. "I don't see why not—"

"You promised you wouldn't interrupt, and I'm not finished yet," she said, the words blurring together in her nervousness. He blinked, a little surprised, but closed his mouth in acquiescence. She bowed her head slightly, pinching the bridge of her nose before continuing.

This had to be done right, she thought. Because this was Zuko. He wasn't Aang. He wasn't Jet. This love couldn't, shouldn't be like those.

"I'm so scared of messing this up," she whispered. "And I don't want to rush things, to stumble into a romantic relationship and have it…and have it consume everything we already have. I don't want to just…make out with you all the time and never _talk_ to you anymore…um, well, you know that I mean," she amended awkwardly before hurrying on with all seriousness. "You're my best friend, Zuko, and I want you to remain that. I don't want our friendship to get lost in the shuffle. I couldn't bear that. I like the way we work together. I like our rhythm. It feels…right, somehow, comfortable in a way that has nothing to do with habit. I _like_ us."

He smiled halfway. "I like us, too, Katara," he told her.

She let out a soft breath, her expression fleetingly mirroring his. "Yeah. So…so could we take this slow? Because I want this to last. I want this to last forever." Her face fell. "I probably just completely freaked you out."

He chucked quietly and waved a hand. "Hardly. I'm no stranger to commitment, and I'm certainly not afraid of it. Besides…I can't imagine who else I could possibly want to share my life with. You've saved me, Katara, in more ways than one."

She blushed at the praise, but then she stepped to the foot of the bed, tentatively extending one arm. He scooted forward until he was close enough to lace their fingers. "I think we can do this, Zuko," she said softly. "I think we can find the middle ground between friends and lovers. I think…no, I _know_ that we can have both and find that balance."

He smirked. "Balance, eh? It'll be tricky to maintain between fire and water…"

Yin and yang, she thought again, picturing the swirling koi. And she remembered the perfect harmony when they had performed the Waltz of the Phoenix, how everything had settled into flawless order…and how the same exact feeling had enveloped her not too long ago when they'd performed a different sort of dance that, like their bending battles before, still managed to possess the same rhythm.

It had never been just the music.

"If anyone can do it, we can," she replied strongly, squeezing his hand.

He simply looked at her for a moment. "You know, I've always admired your resolution. Even when," he added, now cracking a smile, "it would be more appropriate to call it _pig-headedness._"

"You're one to talk," she sniped gently, and a faint smile chased across her lips before it disappeared in pensiveness. "Did you hear that? That's what I'm so afraid to lose."

Now his fingers tightened on hers, a return gesture of reassurance. "I understand your caution, Katara, but I wouldn't worry. The universe hasn't been able to take us down yet, and we both know it's tried."

She nodded, grateful for his words, but she still hadn't quite finished. "So you're okay with this, right? Going back to the beginning? Starting out slow? Because I don't want to force it on you. I'd never want that."

"You're not," he promised her, and then he shook his head vaguely. "I can't believe you can be so mature, but I understand. And…I'd like to have it all with you, too. Properly, this time."

She studied him as quiet moments slipped away, and then she said, her voice hovering on more than breaking the silence, "Then you understand why I can't stay here tonight."

He regarded her seriously before quipping, "Temptation is a bitch."

She snickered, unable to help herself. "Yeah," she agreed, "something like that. Well…goodnight. See you in the morning."

"Bright and early," he let her know. "Because I rise—"

"I swear to all the spirits, Zuke, if you say that one more time, I will waterbend you so hard you'll never wake up before noon again," she warned, but her lips were twitching in a grin.

He bobbed his head meekly, his eyes mockingly wide, but he held his silence. That is, until she had reached the hallway and was closing his door behind her. Then he burst out, his voice rich with laughter:

"—_with the sun!_"

Katara couldn't bite back her amusement, either, and as she stepped into the adjacent room, still giggling, she acknowledged with relief that she had made the right choice. They did say slow and steady won the race, after all, and she was convinced they would win.

They were Zuko and Katara. Who else stood a chance?

* * *

A/N: In a fit of shameless self-pimpage, I drew a coverart of sorts for this fic. It's in my deviantART gallery, which is linked in my profile here. Check it out if you're interested!


	15. quinze

Disclaimer: In the spirit of all things full-circle, I still do not (however lamentably!) own _Avatar: The Last Airbender_. In less lamentable circs, I also do not own "So Far Away" by Staind, which should really just be renamed "Zuko's Song." No, seriously. That's why it's included besides the fact that it's a really amazing song and you should totally listen to it and it's on YouTube if you're lazy and/or cheap. But I firmly believe that Staind warped the space-time continuum, watched the whole series, wrote this about Zuko, and then traveled back to the past (as opposed to back to the future) and released this song under a different, unassuming title. Seriously.

A/N: Holy ginormous chapters, Batman! It's like a five-for-one deal or something: 23 delicious pages; 18,851 delicious words. So yeah. I guess I know how to end 'em.

* * *

_**Beyond the Rising Sun**_

_**xv.**_

_(this is my life, it's not what it was before_

_all these feelings I've shared_

_and these are my dreams that I've never lived before_

_somebody shake me 'cause I, I must be sleeping)_

Zuko closed his eyes and breathed.

Here, in the maw of this long-dead volcano, something of the smoke and sulfur still hung in the air, lingering on the edges of the breeze so subtly that he had never even noticed it prior to his banishment; it was just always there. Now that he'd freshly returned from the Earth Kingdom and Ember Island, he inhaled the faintest of fragrances once again, that quintessential scent of fire.

And from over the lip of the crater, the wind also bore remnants of the ocean's salt, and the flavors mixed and blended pleasantly in his lungs.

Iroh had always maintained that fire was in the breath. But then again, so was water.

Despite his current situation, he allowed his lips to curve into a smile, just for the duration of his imagination's flight of fancy. Once he lifted his lids and looked upon the healing house, this evanescent reverie would become just that—a daydream.

The Fire Lord, though, could only count on being left undisturbed for so long, and he reluctantly opened his eyes, letting himself slowly come to terms with his location and what he was about to do.

Katara, who had been standing off to the side, slipped into his line of vision and glanced between the converted manor and the firebender. "You don't have to do this right now," she said gently. "Maybe it'd be easier if you actually stayed at the palace for more than a minute, got settled back in."

He sighed, a nearly inaudible exhale, hardly a sigh at all. "I know," he acknowledged, his thumb absently tracing the indentations in the locket's metal lid. "But she deserves to know, before the rumors spread, and…well, it's Tuesday. I don't want to have to wait another week," he pointed out, a bit more lightheartedly, even though the tone was belied by the still-somber look on his face.

She nodded, and after a heartbeat, she stepped in close and brushed a kiss against his cheek. He let his lashes mesh again, savoring the fleeting warmth of the sensation. It still managed to amaze him, somehow, even after sharing all he had with her and knowing everything he knew, that she loved him. That she really, truly, honest-to-Agni loved him.

Aang had been right. Being loved by Katara was the greatest feeling in the world.

She lingered longer than was proper—because he was the Fire Lord, and she was a Water peasant, and he foresaw many enjoyable meetings with his council—but eventually eased back, and he saw that she was smiling in that quiet, reassuring way she had all but perfected.

"I'll be here when you're done," she told him, and she smoothed a stray hair back into his topknot. "I won't be hard to find. Where there's water, there's me."

"By the lake, then, I take it," he teased, "and not that puddle over there."

She turned halfway and critically studied the indicated puddle, and at length she shrugged. "Well, maybe it'll be harder to find me after all, if there's so many distractions everywhere." She shook her head, even as he chuckled softly, and absently reached up to adjust his shoulder armor.

Zuko arched his good eyebrow and said with a smirk, "Are you straightening my clothes?"

Her hands flew back to her sides, and she laughed weakly. "Heh, force of habit?" she ventured, but then the seriousness returned to her face. "Good luck, I guess. I hope…that…" She trailed off, uncertain how to possibly end that sentence.

He grasped the sentiment, though, and replied, "Yeah, I hope so, too."

Katara snatched his hand and gave it one last strengthening squeeze, and he watched as she followed one of the many cobblestone paths, heading towards the flat, ever-reflective surface of the capital city's largest lake. She disappeared from sight soon enough, descending towards the shore and blocked by a clump of trees and shrubs, but he still stood where she'd left him, as if he half-expected her to come running back.

Or perhaps he was more reluctant to visit Azula than he'd first perceived. Maybe it was that quiet dread in the back of his mind that feared her only reaction to his sad news would be, _Mother? Who's Mother?_

Maybe he just didn't want to have to look at his sister and reconfirm how similar the two women actually appeared.

In a numb sort of silence, he stared down at the locket in his hand and also focused on the weight of the vial of perfume that rested in his pocket. He never imagined that he would be the bearer of this message; he had always assumed that if he ever needed to report about Ursa, it would be because she had returned, that she was going to be visiting soon, that everything was finally going to fall into place in this upside-down world they inhabited.

He sometimes wondered if turning an upside-down world upside-down would make it right-side up again.

Jaw tightening and fingers clenching, Zuko exhaled loudly through his nose and finally forced his feet to move. They carried him along on autopilot, and he was grateful that he didn't have to pay attention to his movements; he was distracted enough already with various ways to bring up this painful, still-raw topic, and if he had to watch where he was going on top of that, he would probably end up tripping himself.

He made it into the healing house without mishap and headed unerringly towards the reception desk; he knew where Azula resided, of course, but he was grasping at every delay he could. There was something so final about sharing this information with his sister, something far more final than the short announcement he'd delivered to the council directly upon his return. As if it were somehow a lie as long as everybody but his family knew, as if it were all just pretend.

He wished it were—he could handle a nightmare. He could wake up from a nightmare.

He gave himself the slightest shake. He had to focus here. He had to stay grounded in reality, as harsh and cold as that reality was. For Azula's sake, for his nation's sake…they needed a strong, capable man, not some moping little boy.

He slipped his hand into his pocket as he reached the desk, feeling the locket was a private matter that ought not to be displayed. The nurse manning the desk saw him and offered a deep bow, saying once she had straightened, "Good morning, my lord. We are all so sorry for your loss."

Zuko raised his brows, surprised at her possession of such information but realizing that he shouldn't be; he was the ruler of the Fire Nation, after all, and rumors spread literally like wildfire around here. He swallowed after a beat and inquired, "You have not informed my sister, have you?"

She shook her head vigorously. "Oh, no, my lord. We would never dare to trespass like that. In fact, Princess Azula's nurses were sworn to secrecy on the matter as a double precaution. If you wish it, I can summon the administrator and have this confirmed."

He waved one hand. "No, that won't be necessary. Thank you, though, for taking such measures. I truly appreciate it."

She bowed again. "It was only right, my lord. Do you require anything else?"

"No, that's all," he replied, and he turned and began the long trek to his sister's quarters. As he always found, his steps grew heavier as he drew closer, his stride degrading to a shuffle, and the last dozen feet seemed to take an inordinate amount of time.

Resting his hand on the doorknob, he was strongly reminded of his last visit to his mother, of how he'd been unable to open that door, too. But as he had back then, he steeled his nerve and slipped inside, taking great care to close the portal as quietly as possible behind him. He located his sister without difficulty; as ever, she sat in her wheeled chair near the floor-length window, her head tilted back slightly to catch the warmth of the sun where the rays streamed brightly through the glass.

He approached her on silent feet and reclined heavily in the chair opposite her, withdrawing the locket from his robe's pocket and cradling it in his hands. He studied it for a long moment, once again tracing the character etched into the lid, and finally raised his eyes to study his younger sibling.

Yes, they did look so similar—mother and daughter, poured from the same mold. But then he supposed that he resembled Ozai rather strongly, which was why he had defied tradition and kept his hair short and his face clean-shaven. But that train of thought caused him to mull over the possibility that Azula could ever be like Ursa in attitude as well as appearance, if anything at all could ever prompt such a metamorphosis.

He had, though. Change wasn't impossible in his family.

He glanced aside, noting that Iroh's tea set remained close by, and said at length, "Hello, Azula. It's me, Zuko."

Her eyes flickered from the beautiful vista, roving over him in a cursory fashion, as if his presence were as interesting as the rest of the furniture. They flickered away again, never staying in one place too long, but after a few stretched instants, she murmured, "Zuzu."

"Yeah, that's right," he acknowledged, and he allowed his fingers to tense and relax. It was now or never. There was no real point in tiptoeing up to the subject, since Azula probably would only listen to every tenth word, anyway.

"I saw Mom," he began, his throat closing a little, and he swallowed to keep it clear. "She's…she won't be coming around anymore, Azula. She's…gone."

The last word was barely a whisper.

Azula stared at him with her customary blank expression, but ever so slowly, so gradually he wasn't even sure any change was being wrought, clarity filled her eyes. Clarity and tears.

"You mean she's dead?" she asked, and it didn't seem like it was meant to be a question, but her voice broke, pitching it higher.

Zuko just stared at her for a moment, uncertain whether this was one of her lapses, but when his sister's eyes narrowed slightly and she repeated herself hoarsely, he knew this was the real thing. If the combined loss of her friends and her ambitions had severed her from the world, perhaps the loss of their mother did have the power to bring her back.

Maybe she had only needed a shock more powerful than lightning could ever be.

"Yeah," he finally confirmed, little more than an exhale.

Azula collapsed subtly, her already-frail frame hunching further into the wheeled chair. Her gaze slid back to the window, but he could tell that it was different; her lashes trembled as tears continued searing her eyes, and her thin fingers rose shakily to her mouth. When she spoke, her voice was very small.

"Did…did she mention…me?"

Zuko nodded, aware she could now see the motion from her periphery. "She loved you, Azula, she really did. She wanted me to tell you that. And that she was sorry."

"Sorry?" the princess echoed, delicate features twisting into a bitter grimace. "What does _she_ have to be sorry for? I was the monster of a daughter that always drove her away…no, no, she had nothing to be…to be…" She choked off, her lips thinning into a near-invisible line as she valiantly strove to swallow her emotions.

Zuko was at a loss for a moment, and then he rallied with, "I think she understood. She told me to be nice to you because you didn't mean it," he added with just a hint of humor.

She scoffed at that, but he didn't think it was a denial of the statement, more like she didn't believe Ursa would have said such a thing. She remained silent after that, her hands clenching into weak fists on the chair's arms, and she blinked more often than was natural. At length, though, she said with a hint of her old derision, "I see you're Fire Lord."

He pursed his lips momentarily before he bobbed his head. "Yes. For the past three years."

She shot him a sharp look, shock widening her eyes, but then her whole expression dulled once more. "I suppose I knew that," she admitted softly, distantly. "I suppose I remember everything…blurrily. General trends and the like…I certainly remember this view," she remarked blandly, surveying the window with some distaste.

"You did spend quite some time enjoying it," he agreed, even though he found his choice of words a bit too strong; she hadn't enjoyed anything for years.

She didn't acknowledge that, instead uncurling her fists and running her hands curiously along the rims of her chair, as if silently questioning its purpose. She located the brake without difficulty, noted that it was set, and then repositioned her grip. Without looking at her brother, she grit her teeth determinedly and pushed down with her arms, attempting to lever her body up enough to stand.

Her weak muscles quivered in protest, and her whole frame shook from the strain, even though she had only risen an inch or so off the seat. Zuko was on his own feet in an instant, reaching towards her to assist her in her clear struggle, but she snapped harshly, "Get away! I don't need your help! I don't need anybody's help!"

He hesitated, torn, but backed off a pace, his hands raised in a general gesture of surrender.

Azula fought her forgetful body for a few commendable moments more, but then her arms gave out, and she collapsed bonelessly into the chair. Her knuckles stood out sharply as she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, her teeth locked and bared in a grimace, and she trembled in the aftermath of her defeat, wracked with dry sobs.

Zuko crouched in front of her, much in the same manner as he would address a small child, and placed a cautious hand on her forearm. He recoiled as she lashed out with an incoherent cry, but when she began sobbing in earnest, he tried again. She didn't shake him off the second time; perhaps she didn't have the energy.

"Why are you here?" she demanded, even though much of her commanding tone was lost amongst her tears. "Why were you always here? Did you want to gloat about your _rightful_ throne? Or did you just pity me? Pity the poor pathetic girl who can't even _stand_ on her own two feet!"

"Azula, no," he told her gently, doing his level best to make eye contact, but she stubbornly remained hidden behind her palms. "It wasn't like that at all. You're my sister, so I love you."

She let out a watery laugh. "I must congratulate you; you didn't use to be that good of a liar."

He heaved a sigh and tightened his grip marginally, hard enough to impress his sincerity but not hard enough to hurt her. "Azula, don't be like this," he said, the words at once both order and plea. "I know it's not easy to know about Mom, and I can't imagine it's pleasant to realize you've been living in a daydream for the past three years. But we're all we have left—we're each other's family now. I will stand by you, no matter what. I'm your brother, so I'm going to protect you now, as I always should have."

Another weak scoff. "I hardly think I ever needed it, Zuko."

He didn't miss the usage of his proper name, and he wondered privately if that meant some real progress had been made, if it hadn't been a slip. Outwardly, he smiled faintly and tried again to coax her hands away from her face. "No, I don't suppose you did. But I can help you now, and don't you dare try to avoid accepting it," he added, anticipating her protest. "The other nations will be breathing down my neck once they've learned that you're recovered, trying to get you condemned for the war crimes."

That got her to lower her hands, and she fixed fierce, bloodshot amber eyes on his. "Oh, so that's how it's gonna be? 'Let's be a family, Azula—here's some tough love'? I knew you didn't mean it," she sneered.

"I didn't say that," he overrode. "I don't have a solution for this yet; honestly, I wasn't sure if you'd ever recover, so I hadn't really planned for this contingency. But I swear to you that I will do my best to ensure you are treated fairly, and by that I don't mean thrown in jail to rot, so don't even suggest it."

She scowled at him and tugged her forearm from his grip; he let her retreat, returning to his chair and remembering his purpose. He had only just pulled the locket back out, though, when she spoke again, her eyes distant but in such a different way than before.

"You said that we were all we had left. Whatever happened to…?"

She left it hanging, but he hardly needed her to complete the sentence.

"Ozai has been officially disowned and buried so deep in prison that he'll never see the light of day again," he replied bluntly, not bothering to disguise the revulsion lingering on the edges of his words.

She nodded slowly and said musingly, bitterly, "In the end, he betrayed us all. Funny how that works."

He allowed a nod of his own, studying the necklace he held briefly before he said, "I found Mom by tracking her with a bounty hunter; Ozai revealed the location of this locket," he explained, hefting it demonstratively, "and I used the lock of her hair within to give the hunter's shirsu a scent." He flipped the lid open and proffered one of the bundles. "I…thought you might like to have this."

Azula stared at the curl of hair, her lips parting and her brow pinching. With an unsure, shivering hand, she reached for it, and he let her have it, watching sadly as she cradled it with the utmost reverence. Tears welled anew in her eyes, although he wasn't sure if they had ever properly ceased, and she ran a fingertip along the smooth strands.

"She's really gone, isn't she," she said thickly, and she sank her teeth into her lower lip to keep it from quivering.

"Maybe I should make some tea," Zuko offered quietly, and he had half-risen when she stopped him.

"I think I already did," she commented, and she shifted her attention momentarily, lifting the lid of the small, fine teapot. She made a quiet noise of acknowledgement and proceeded to pour two cups with a deftness of motion he wasn't used to seeing, and to his further surprise, she quickly firebent both drinks.

He accepted his with murmured thanks, realizing that it would take some getting used to, this lucid Azula who could carry a conversation and firebend at will. He sipped the brew, letting the flavor wash over his tongue—he had gradually acquired a taste for the stuff, to Iroh's unbridled delight—and praised genuinely, "This is delicious, Azula."

She snorted and gave him the reply he had expected all that time ago.

"Well, I am a prodigy," she remarked, although there was a blandness in her voice. She swallowed her own mouthful and resumed staring sorrowfully at the last tangible evidence of their mother.

Zuko had drunk his whole cup, letting the silence lengthen between them, before he slipped his hand in his pocket again. He only had this one vial, true, but it would be the work of a moment to order more from the Earth Kingdom nuns.

He extended the tiny glass bottle towards Azula as well, and when she arched a brow inquiringly, he elucidated obligingly. "It's Mom's perfume. I thought you'd like to have it, too."

Replacing her tea cup beside the pot and laying the bundle of black hair in her lap, Azula grabbed the vial, running her fingertips along its smooth facets. She removed the stopper with a quiet pop and tentatively inhaled. Her eyes closed, and her whole body slumped again as fragrance and memory alike washed over her.

"Yeah, that's hers," she murmured, studying it with half-veiled eyes.

Zuko waited a few heartbeats, letting her absorb all of this, and then rose to his feet. He returned the cup to its saucer on the tray and absently smoothed the wrinkles from his regal attire. "I suppose I should get going; I've got a lot to do yet. Mom's funeral will be in a week or so, once Uncle Iroh and a few others arrive. I trust you'll want to come."

She nodded, one incline of her head, her gaze still fixed on her final mementos.

He paused and added, "Like I said, I'm not sure what to do with you quite yet. So for now we'll keep up the façade that nothing's changed. I typically visit you on Tuesdays, so I guess I'll see you in a week, then."

Azula moved her hands to the wheels, swiveling her chair so that she faced him. "Can I, perhaps, show some promise? Like maybe move around a bit? Read a book?"

"I don't know. It can't be too abrupt, whatever it is. Maybe on the nicer days, you can express a desire to go outside, and sooner or later, I'll have this all worked out."

Another nod, and he turned to go; he had made it all the way to the door, his hand reaching for the knob, when she stopped him with a word.

"Zuko?"

He turned, and he thought it strange that while she sat in the same chair in the same place, she looked completely different. But she didn't look quite like the sister he remembered, either; he had never seen Azula appear so peripherally _lost_ before.

"Do…do you miss her?" she whispered, almost as if she didn't want him to hear.

His eyelids slid shut as he sighed, his shoulders falling slightly before he straightened anew. "Yes," he admitted softly. "All the time."

Azula glanced down at her hands, at how her fingers were tightly laced together, and said to them, "Maybe…maybe next Tuesday, you could tell me how…how she was before…"

His heart twinged in his chest, and he walked back to his chair; she watched him with some surprise. "Why wait," he said quietly as he reclined once more, and she wheeled closer attentively. "I suppose it's a bit of a long story, the whole thing, but to cut to the chase, we arrived in this Earth Kingdom village…"

* * *

_(these are my words that I've never said before_

"_I think I'm doing okay"_

_and this is the smile that I've never shown before_

_somebody shake me 'cause I, I must be sleeping)_

It was quiet in Zuko's office, the only sound the faint swishing of his brush on the scroll as he penned a new trade agreement between the Fire Nation's outlying provinces. Ever since his return to the capital and his proper duty, he had been—as he had wryly but accurately told Katara—up to his eyeballs in paperwork, but he had to say that he didn't entirely mind. What had once been tedious labor was, admittedly, still tedious labor, but he could truly recognize the value in it now. It was as if his mind had sharpened somehow from all the recent upheaval, and it was a pleasant relief to pour over major economic crises instead of major personal ones.

He glanced up at the sound of shuffling of papers and did his best to hide a smile; he didn't entirely succeed, the expression still flickering towards the corners of his lips. Katara was actually seated on the table in his office, cross-legged and surrounded by stacks of scrolls and piles of parchment. She had just picked up a second paper, and now studied the two she held in a comparative manner, blue eyes flicking back and forth.

Zuko supposed he should have anticipated this: that she would be useful in the realm of politics. She had, after all, spent considerable time with Aang during his Avatar duties, and it made sense that she would have picked up more than a little knowledge and practical experience along the way. It had surprised him nevertheless, though, when she had volunteered to help upon their return from Ember Island. He had assumed then that she meant in some small, secretarial way—sorting documents or such. He hadn't expected her to have all this advice on what to do and how to do it, a refreshing outsider's perspective coupled with all her know-how of the Fire Nation from working with Aang.

He returned his attention to his work, his last thought causing his expression to swell into a real smile: Katara was going to make an excellent Fire Lady.

But he didn't get to work uninterrupted for long, as he was distracted by the quiet thud of her boots impacting stone tiles as she leapt neatly off the table. She stretched her arms above her head, fingers laced together, and grimaced as she leaned to either side.

"Okay, break time," she announced, eyelids fluttering in pleasure as her spine crackled. "Ahh…"

He snorted and finished painting the last few characters, observing the flow of ink with a critical eye, but conceded, "I guess it's high time. We've been at this for hours."

"And hardly made a dent in it!" Katara pointed out with a rueful sort of laugh. "It's impressive, really. I knew you had a lot on your plate, but spirits, Zuko, you have a _banquet_ here! It's a wonder you find enough hours in the day."

"Well, I learned a lot from Uncle, but fortunately not my time management skills," Zuko remarked dryly, carefully replacing his brush in the wooden ink dish for safe-keeping. "Do you want to train like we did yesterday? That got the kinks out of my neck rather well," he recalled with a chuckle, rubbing his sore neck as he said it.

She grinned, an impish twist of her lips. "Kicking your ass always improves my day."

He rolled his eyes, even as he slipped the pin from his crown and the ribbon from his topknot, allowing his hair to fall loose. "I didn't mean hardcore training," he grumbled, ruffling the shaggy black locks with one hand. "More like something light and easy."

She laughed brightly as he navigated his office to her side, and her hands found challenging places on her hips as she teased, "Looks like having a desk job makes you a lazy, wimpy—"

"I hardly think I asked your opinion," he observed, but he was smirking as he said it, and she certainly didn't object when he stole a swift kiss.

"I suppose we can do it your way," she relented graciously, tucking her arm through the crook of his as they wandered down the palace's halls, en route for the courtyards. Aside from the occasional servant, they encountered no one on their journey, and Zuko found the solitude—or at least relative solitude—relaxing. It was nice not to have the ministers breathing down his neck, or messengers arriving every five minutes with some new scroll from some sympathetic citizen concerning Ursa's passing.

It was nice just to take a stroll with Katara. He planned on doing a lot of this in the future, but he had a feeling even constant repetition couldn't ruin it.

The courtyards were equally abandoned, and he shrugged out of his outer robes while his girlfriend took up her place by the pond. He had only just folded the garments, now dressed in his standard sleeveless tunic, when he saw that Katara was playing with the turtleducks, guiding them this way and that with tiny ripples in the water's surface. A soft smile decorated his face as he ambled to her side; she had crouched down to better reach the small creatures, and he absently twined one of her loose curls around his finger.

She glanced up at him, smirking. "Well, Zuke, I never pegged you as the overly sentimental type."

His quiet expression didn't change. "My mother always loved feeding the turtleducks. Sometimes I just can't quite believe that I found another person in this world who is as kind and warm and…" He trailed off with a vague shake of his head.

Katara's smile faded into something more pensive, and she returned her gaze to the pond. "You know," she said at length, "I've been meaning to talk with you about something, but I haven't known how to bring it up. I guess now's as good a time as ever."

He furrowed his brow slightly, more curious than concerned. "Well, what is it?" he inquired, still idly toying with the lock of her hair.

She heaved a soft sigh, reluctant to begin, and he waited patiently until she said, "It's about Azula. I know you don't want to have her arrested and all, now that she's…well…back, so I was thinking…what if you had Aang spiritbend her, like he did to Ozai? That way she wouldn't be a threat, so maybe the other nations and everyone would go easy on her sentence, maybe let her stay in the palace instead of going to prison."

Zuko considered for only a moment before he shook his head. "It's a good idea, but it wouldn't work. I know Aang was doing his best not to harm anyone when he did that to Ozai, but…there is no worse punishment for a bender than to have that taken away. It's crippling, it's humiliating…it's like going up to any ordinary person and demanding an arm or a leg. Ozai would have preferred death, and Azula probably would, too."

"I guess I didn't look at it that way," she confessed quietly, balancing her elbows on her knees.

"And besides," he continued with a hint of dark humor, "it's not like that would make Azula less of a threat, assuming she'd still be one at all. Her talents always lay in deceit and manipulation, and the fancy firebending was more to emphasize her superiority than to force obedience. And she could still lie, even if Aang used that spiritbending on her. She is—or was—more dangerous than Ozai could ever hope to be."

Katara remained silent but eventually shrugged. "Well, at least I tried," she remarked as blithely as possible, attempting to reinflate the mood.

He nodded. "Yes. So you're not a complete failure."

She swiped at him, batting his hand from her hair, and glanced up, ready to stand and begin training, when her attention was caught by something far off in the sky. She squinted, eyebrows slanting together, and Zuko followed her unspoken cue, looking up as well.

"Is that…Appa?" she wondered aloud, referring to the gradually swelling black dot amongst the scattered white clouds.

Zuko frowned. "If that's Appa, then what's _that_?" he added, raising one arm and pointing at a second blob that followed the probably-Appa blob. "It kind of looks like one of the old war balloons, but those have all been converted, and I didn't think Aang had…" He fell silent, his frown deepening.

Katara cocked her head to one side. "Actually, it kind of looks like Appa, too…"

They waited a few heartbeats, watching as the pair of dots soared closer and became more readily identifiable. The foremost was the Avatar's sky bison, as they had suspected, but the trailing form was…also a sky bison.

"There's two of them?" Zuko exclaimed. "How in Agni's name did that happen?"

She shrugged and nudged him. "Give them a signal so they know where to land."

He more readily understood that concept, and he slipped into a firebending stance and punched a column of fire upwards a good fifty feet, a rather improved form of a stranded man's rescue flare. The pair of sky bison veered towards the flames and then the lingering skeleton of smoke, swiftly eating up the remaining distance.

Katara nudged him again, a bit more pointedly this time. "I don't think you'll do anything, but…don't flaunt us, okay?"

Zuko cast her a sidelong glance, one eyebrow arched. "They'll find out eventually. For one thing, I think the wedding invitation would be a tip-off."

She flushed slightly at that but managed to regain her composure and roll her eyes in record time. "So much for taking it slow, Zuko; now you're proposing? And you know what I mean! There's a mature way of letting this information into the light, and then there's inappropriate, graphic demonstrations."

He pursed his lips, pretending to give the matter copious amounts of thought. "So…are you saying that you do or do _not_ want me to ravish you in front of—ow! I only have two arms, you know, and I'm partial to my right, seeing as I'm right-handed!" he protested, overdramatically rubbing his bicep.

Katara cracked her knuckles in a threatening way but couldn't completely stop grinning. "Boyfriend or not, Zuko, I have no qualms upending you in this pond should you misbehave."

He snickered at that, and while the chuckles swelled into real, shared laughter, they both grew quiet as the sky bison landed in the courtyard. Or, at least the unknown creature did; Appa lit with unerring grace on the nearest rooftop.

Toph leapt off the nameless bison, leaving a crater—which she promptly fixed—where she landed. "Ah, nothing like good hard earth after days on those horrifying beasts! No offense, Yama," she added swiftly, shying away from her previous transportation as if afraid of being eaten in punishment. But then she turned sightless eyes on the Fire Lord and waterbending master and grinned.

"Sparky! Sweetness! Long time, no _see_, ah ha ha!"

"It's good to see you, too, Toph," Katara returned in earnest, hugging the younger girl, which the earthbender surprisingly accepted. Zuko had a feeling his greeting punch was extra-hard, though, to make up for it. "But what's with the second bison?"

Sokka, who had been steering Yama, slipped off its furry head and gave his wife a helping hand before answering Katara's question. "Well, my dear little sister, if you look under enough rocks, sooner or later you will uncover a herd of sky bison," he remarked wisely, sounding similar to one of Iroh's nonsensical proverbs.

She quirked a brow, slanting Appa and his passengers a brief, nervous glance before refocusing on her brother. "I'll ignore the weirdness of that in favor of hugging you, but only for a second," she told him, adding more seriously, "I'm so glad you guys could come."

Zuko grasped Sokka's arm in the traditional Water Tribe gesture, nodding to Katara's statement. "Yes, it means a lot that you're here," he said, offering Suki an informal bow. Once he had straightened, he looked towards Appa, too, and said more loudly, "It means a lot that you're _all_ here."

Ty Lee bounced to the swelling group with all her typical acrobatics, and Mai followed with her equally standard slowness. Aang joined them last, hanging back towards the rear and looking uncertain.

"It's your mother, Zuko," Mai said when she arrived, her monotone not quite as harshly unfeeling as usual. "You didn't honestly expect us to refuse."

Before the firebender could reply to that, though, Sokka said, "Yeah, we're all so sorry. We know how much it hurts," he added, wrapping an arm around Suki and tugging her into his side, and he cast a glance at his sister as he did so.

"Yep. We're here for ya, Sparky," Toph declared, and she rapped her knuckles against his arm in a much gentler version of a punch.

Zuko shook his head, a little amazed at this show of support. "Really, guys, thank you," he said, trying to inject as much sincere gratitude into those few words as audibly possible.

Ty Lee flitted about the group, finally popping her head between Zuko and Katara. "Actually, Zuko, where's Azula? We were wondering, you know, how she was taking the news."

He chewed on his lower lip, unsure how to explain everything that had happened to Azula in as few words as possible, but he was saved the trouble by the unpredicted perceptiveness of Mai.

"We know what happened to her after the war," she let him know. "And we probably should have visited her before, but…better late than never."

"We won't just pop in unannounced," Ty Lee piped up, earnestly serious. "We'll give her advance notice. Azula always liked knowing what was coming."

Zuko nodded, another grateful smile stealing across his face. "I'm sure she'd love to see you. She's up at the healing house, the big one overlooking the lake. I'm…I'm really glad you three might end up being friends again; Azula could really use the support."

Ty Lee bobbed her head, smiling so wide the top of her head should've fallen off, and Mai might have smiled as well before they set off in the indication direction, the former walking on her hands and the latter grumbling a chastisement for the acrobat's sheer oddity.

And then it was just the old group, the one that had weathered the end of the war together. An awkward silence descended, in which everyone watched Aang, Zuko, and Katara watch each other.

Eventually Toph rolled hazy eyes heavenward, irritated with the situation. "Look, we all know all about the drama, 'kay? I, for one, know much more than I could ever care to know—Twinkle Toes wouldn't give it a rest until my ears bled!"

Aang scowled, even as he flushed from the indication that he'd been wallowing most pathetically. "Your ears only bled because you earthbent rocks into them!" he reminded her, gripping his staff a little too tightly.

Sokka chortled at that, helping ease the tension from the atmosphere, even as Toph remarked, "Well, I had to do _something_ to drown out the sound of your voice. I'm blind, not deaf, remember?"

The Avatar opened his mouth, ready to deliver a scathing retort, when the soft utterance of his name stopped him cold.

"Aang," Katara repeated quietly, and she crossed the short distance between them, pulling his stiff body into an unanticipated embrace. "It's good to see you again."

He remained unresponsive for a moment, shooting Zuko a swift look, but when the firebender made no protest, he wound his arms around her, tentatively at first and then fiercely. "I missed you," he mumbled into her hair, his fingers fisting in her robe.

"Awww," Sokka crooned, and he yelped when Suki smacked his arm none too lightly.

Katara eased back, resting her hands on Aang's shoulders, and she smiled a slightly watery smile. "I missed you, too," she admitted, then chided gently, "I told you that we'd still be friends, didn't I?"

He nodded and scratched the back of his head. "You did," he agreed, and then, as if strengthened by that reassurance, added, "Actually, Tara, I have something I wanted to tell you."

"Does it involve the second Appa?" she asked, lightly teasing.

Sokka got there first, though. "It's so cool!" he exclaimed, waving one hand at the newest addition to the gang. "Aang found a whole family of Appas out by the Eastern Air Temple, and because we're all so far-flung nowadays, he gave this one, Yama, to Suki and me. This way we can all travel around really fast. Think of all the parties we can have, and all the food!"

Suki huffed good-naturedly. "You're never going to stop thinking with your stomach, are you?"

He pecked her cheek, unruffled. "That _is_ why you married me, isn't it? My dashing good looks, my razor-sharp wit, and my bottomless stomach," he said, ticking the requirements off on his fingers.

She nodded. "It went in that order, too. Kidding, Sokka!" she laughed when he adopted a very put-upon expression. "Of course I love you for your stomach!" And when he looked away, she mouthed _No_ to Katara, who hid her grin with her hand.

"It is a good idea—the bison thing," Zuko observed. "We do live too far apart now."

"The one downside of traveling the world," Katara pointed out sagely. She then returned her attention to the Avatar, brow furrowed quizzically. "What were you doing out at the Eastern Air Temple, anyway?"

"That's part of what I wanted to tell you," he replied. He paused and shuffled his feet before saying, "Um, do you think we could…take a walk or something? It's just that I'd like to talk to you…alone."

"Yeah, sure," she agreed without hesitation, and with a fleeting glance and even more fleeting smile at Zuko, she and the airbender strolled off.

Blissful silence reigned momentarily until Toph said with a gleeful smirk, "Sooo…how about that? Sparky and Sweetness, together at last. I guess opposites really do attract."

Zuko opened his mouth after his initial astonishment at her observation, ready to argue that he and his girlfriend were actually more similar than was widely believed, but Sokka beat him to the punch.

"_What?_" he blurted, eyes as wide as saucers, and his jaw flapped in comic uselessness before he recovered enough of his mental faculties to sputter, "Y-you and my sister? Are—? _What?_"

"Gee, Snoozles, and I thought I was the blind one here," Toph drawled, still grinning.

"I for one think it's a good thing," Suki decided. "You two always did hit it off well and…Sokka, stop looking at me like that. Yes, like I just broke your boomerang. You didn't honestly expect Katara to be alone for the rest of her life, did you?"

He scowled, muttered something along the lines of _a brother can dream_, and jabbed a finger at the firebender. "You hurt her, you die. Those are my terms."

"Sokka…" Suki groaned, massaging her temples.

Zuko, though, bowed deeply to the Water Tribe warrior. "I accept your conditions, and hereby swear to offer myself up for swift and violent retribution should the need ever, Agni forbid, arise."

Sokka seemed mollified with the promise of easy vengeance, and he gave a smug hum of satisfaction.

Meanwhile, Katara and Aang had wandered wordlessly through the palace and eventually seated themselves on the shallow front steps. She was leaned back on her elbows, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle, while Aang sat hunched over, his staff balanced through the crook of one arm and leg.

"It was so weird not to see you," he finally said, his voice soft and somewhat subdued. "I mean, for four whole years, I saw you practically every waking moment, and then…and then you were gone. I dunno. I didn't like it."

"I know what you mean," she conceded, tilting her head back; she never had gotten around to working the knots out of her muscles. She closed her eyes, enjoying the tickling warmth of the sun on her skin.

He nodded slowly, and then ventured, "So, are…are you and…?"

She exhaled a shade heavier than normal and let her chin fall back to her chest, her eyes opening halfway and focusing on a distant point. "Aang…" she breathed, sounding a little sad, "I don't want to hurt you any more than I already have. We don't need to talk about this."

He waited a few moments and then repeated, but with sure resignation now, "You are, aren't you."

He didn't make it a question.

She bit the inside of her lower lip. "Yes, we are," she confirmed. "Don't ask me why, because it's not like I have a list of reasons or anything. It's just…with the way things happened and all…I don't know, Aang. We're just…_right_, somehow."

The Avatar stared pensively at the ground a dozen feet away, but then something like a faint smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. "As long as you're happy, Katara. Honestly." He looked at her briefly, the smile broadening with sincerity. "That's all I've ever wanted for you."

She grinned in reply, feeling the last of the tension easing from her limbs. "Same here, Aang," she said softly, adding more flippantly, "so if worst comes to worst, I can always track down Meng…"

He cringed at the mention of the fortune-teller's apprentice; apparently he hadn't quite recovered from the unintended dance at Sokka and Suki's wedding. "Spirits, anything but that!" he groaned theatrically, running a hand back along his scalp.

Katara laughed at his reaction but then suggested more thoughtfully, "You know, there's always Toph."

"Eh?" Aang queried, lowering his hand to rest on the step. "What about who now?"

"Toph," the waterbender repeated. "You remember her: blind, sarcastic, earthbender? She's a girl."

The Avatar gave his head a little shake, re-emphasizing his confusion. "Yeaaah, I know Toph's a girl, but I don't see…oh…_oh_…are you kidding, Katara? She'd _kill_ me!" he exclaimed, waving his arms wildly.

She opened her mouth to offer a rebuttal, but after a moment of thought said instead, "Yeah, that's a good point. But don't underestimate the value of someone who can listen to you."

"She bent _rocks_ into her _ears_!"

Katara dismissed that with a casual wave of her hand. "She didn't bend them down your throat, which in Toph's case speaks of considerable concern for your well-being. But anyway, I'll stop playing matchmaker, even though it's kind of fun to watch you squirm," she admitted shamelessly. "I understand you had something to tell me…unless it was the whole being-happy thing."

He shook his head, and then, to her surprise, he nearly vibrated on the spot, he became so excited. He leapt to his feet, unable to continue sitting, and bounced up and down on his toes, grinning wide enough to show all his molars.

"I did it—I figured out spiritbending!" he proclaimed with a broad sweep of his tattooed arms.

"What?" she gasped, and she had claimed him in another embrace within an instant, not expecting him to twirl her around in his sheer giddiness before he released her. "How did this happen?" she asked once her feet were anchored back on solid ground. "Did you find the lion-turtle again?"

"Well, I did, but it was annoyingly unhelpful, not to mention that I only catch every fifth word it says," Aang explained breezily. "I ended up looking for Guru Pathik—I figured that if he knew enough about chakras and chi and all that to help me master the Avatar State, then surely he must know something about spiritbending. That's why I was in the Eastern Air Temple, and that's when I found the herd of sky bison; apparently they've been in the area, but hiding, obviously, because they've grown afraid of humans since the Fire Nation's attack. But I managed to befriend and—ahh, that is not the point right now!

"The point is," he said after inhaling deeply, "is that I can do it: I can manipulate someone's chi in such a way that I can bring back the airbenders. Pathik actually didn't know any specifics, but he had a lot of theoretical knowledge, which was really, really helpful."

"Have you started yet? And do they have to be benders in the first place, or can it work on non-benders?" Katara asked, feeling nearly as exhilarated by the news as the Avatar himself.

Aang shrugged. "I don't know yet about the second part—everyone has chi, of course, but benders are naturally more in tune with it, so it'd be easier with benders. And I've been spreading the word, but I'm not gonna start right away. I want to set up a base, right? So I was thinking of cleaning out and repairing the Southern Air Temple. It'll be a lot of work, but it'll be worth it in the end."

She shook her head and smiled. "This is so great, Aang. It really is. I can't believe that you might not be the last airbender anymore."

"I know," he agreed, sobering a shade. "I can't, either." And then he let out a bark of laughter. "Forget Meng—this'll make me happy!"

She snorted at that, but then her countenance grew contemplative once more. "What's going to happen with your Avatar duties, though? You can't do both at once, not really."

"Well, Zuko seems to have a pretty good grasp on things," he admitted, only the faintest hint of grudging in his tone, "so I'm not sure how much I have to worry about the Fire Nation's acceptance right now. I figured that I would take a brief sabbatical, so to say, from being the Avatar and focus entirely on being an airbender. Once I get a few other airbenders trained and find a trustworthy right-hand man, I think I'll be able to take up the whole traveling thing and leave them to their own devices. But that's then and this is now, and…"

Katara frowned as he trailed off into silence and slanted her an uncertain look. "What is it?"

He shrugged, one rise and fall of his lean shoulders. "Well, Sokka and Suki and Toph and a few others already agreed to help me fix up the temple, but I really wanted you to be there, too. And Zuko, too, if he wants," he added.

"I'd love to," she assured him. "I don't know if Zuko could—he's got a lot of work as it is, and what with finding his mother…well, he's already spent a lot of time away. It was nice of you to include him, though."

He sighed shortly. "Well, we were—are, we _are_ friends," he replied, his voice growing stronger. "This has all gotten a bit dramatic, but it'll work out, I'm sure. He is my Spirit Brother, after all. I can't just turn my back on him 'cause he stole my girl."

Aang was grinning as he said it, though, and Katara rolled her eyes.

It was such a relief to discover that everything was finally falling into place.

* * *

_(I'm so afraid of waking _

_please don't shake me_

_afraid of waking_

_please don't shake me)_

Midmorning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows in Zuko's office, illuminating the cluttered room with clearest, brightest light. The white-gold streaks caught dust motes lingering in the still air and exploded them in hazy pinpricks of fire, but Zuko was too preoccupied with his endless papers to pay any attention to the day's splendor.

He glanced up from his current scroll, opening his mouth to pose a question to Katara, when he remembered she wasn't there. Lips sealing once more, he gazed at the empty place on the table she had claimed as her own and saw that the carefully stacked ledgers and scrolls had begun encroaching on her territory. He knew that this reflex should've been suppressed by now; she hadn't been in his office for the past two days, time enough to forget the now-unconscious need to consult with her.

Her absence was at his own insistence, anyway; she hadn't seen her brother and friends simultaneously since the wedding, and that was months ago by now. She had been the hesitant one, not wanting to abandon him to his work, but he had more or less barred her from his official chambers with the clear instructions to enjoy herself.

Zuko knew she led a very full life, but that didn't stop him from missing being her sole focus.

He shifted his weight in his chair; it seemed the longer he sat in it, the more uncomfortable the thing became, no matter how much it had molded to his general contours. He huffed an irritated sigh and laid the scroll down, not bothering to stop it from naturally rolling shut.

Massaging his forehead with one hand, the Fire Lord rose and navigated the various furnishings of his office, all stacked high with documents, each one more important and pressingly urgent than the last. But he ignored them in favor of standing before one of the tall windows, his arms crossing comfortably on his chest as he gazed down. The western windows might give him an unbridled view of the city, but the eastern ones overlooked the courtyards.

He smiled fondly as he observed his friends; they were all lounging around the turtleducks' pond in various relaxed poses, and even from this height, he could see enough of their faces to tell that they were all very content. He experienced a brief stab of envy—how lovely it would be not to have responsibilities!—but he shrugged it aside in the next instant.

He should not begrudge them these few days of ease when they all led equally busy lives, albeit in markedly different ways. Sokka and Suki were building a life together; Aang was being the Avatar and apparently reviving the Air Nomads as well; Toph was singlehandedly revolutionizing earthbending; and Katara…

Well, he knew what she was up to, didn't he?

She looked up from her lounge in the grass, as if called by his wandering thoughts, and offered a wave. He returned the gesture, not all that surprised; she of course knew where his office was located. He was more surprised when the others caught on and waved as well, even if Toph didn't quite have the angle right.

He had clasped his hands behind his back but not turned from the vista when a knock sounded on his door.

"Enter," he said reflexively, still not looking; the servant would just deposit the new, thousandth scroll on his desk and then retreat back into the ether.

So he started when familiar gruff tones broke the silence.

"Enjoying the view, my nephew?"

Zuko spun around on his heel, his formal robes taking a bit longer to complete the journey. A smile pulled at his lips, and he hurried over to the elder firebender and embraced him. "Uncle Iroh! You're here!"

Iroh chuckled, patting the young man on the back with one broad hand. "I am indeed. It is good to see you, too. I notice you are keeping yourself busy," he added, gesturing encompassingly to the limitless papers.

Zuko grimaced, stepping back from his uncle and giving the place a cursory glance; it _did_ look pretty bad, come to think of it. "I don't know why anyone would want to rule the world," he said, rather nonchalantly considering the subject matter. "Ruling one country is bad enough."

Iroh nodded, raising one hand to stroke his beard as he studied his nephew. "I am very sorry to hear about your mother, Zuko. How are you faring?"

He gave an unhelpful, one-shouldered shrug. "I've been better. I could be worse."

The former general nodded again, slower this time. "That is good to hear. I was worried that I might find you in a considerably worse state, but that crisis seems to have been averted."

"It would've been worse," Zuko conceded with a humorless exhale, "but I had help. Katara's been…well, _everything_." He shook his head, recalling something else. "I am a little annoyed that you were right about us from the start, you know."

"The wisdom to notice the obvious only comes with age, I'm afraid," Iroh remarked, but then his brow creased more deeply. "And how is Princess Azula?"

Zuko sighed, his expression darkening once more. "She's…back, I guess. But she's not well, Uncle. I think she put more weight in Mom's eventual return than even I did, and when it turned out that was never going to happen…" He trailed off meaningfully.

Iroh processed that for several silent moments and inquired, "Are you worried?"

"About what?" the Fire Lord returned. "That she'll return to her old ways? Truthfully, not really. I remember how she was before, and she's not the same. She's still Azula and all, but she…she lacks the ambition she used to have. Part of that drive was always because of Mom, always this contradicting desire to prove Mom wrong but still achieve the ends that would prove her right, and…" He sighed again. "But I am worried about her in general. I know she's done so much wrong, Uncle, but I don't want to just throw her in jail and be done with it. I can't help but feel she deserves better—she's my sister."

Iroh listened patiently, although his expression tautened at the sentiment expressed in the last few sentences. He looked as if he were about to bring up a very serious subject, but then he apparently reconsidered, as he said more brightly, "You will not have to watch over her alone. I have good news, my nephew—I am returning to the Fire Nation!"

Zuko looked at the elder firebender sharply, puzzled. "What? But what about your tea shop? Not that I object that you'll be living here again—not that at all," he added swiftly, sincerely.

There was a familiar twinkle in his uncle's golden eyes. "I left the Jasmine Dragon in the very capable hands of my manager, who is ironically named Li. He is a tea-maker after my own heart," he said more emphatically, even though his hand settled on his round belly instead. "But I still own it, and you must see the property I acquired here—it is even more beautiful!"

"Wait," Zuko said, raising his hands in the customary _stop_ gesture. "Property?"

Iroh grinned broadly, his eyes curving into happy little crescents. "For my new tea shop, the Jasmine Dragon…West!" he announced dramatically.

"Jasmine Dragon West?" Zuko echoed, trying out the name.

"Isn't that a delightful play on words?" Iroh rushed on, giddy as a schoolboy. "It's not only _in_ the west, it's owned by the Dragon _of_ the West! See? Pure poetry, just like well-brewed tea!"

The Fire Lord groaned at the pun; it was so like Iroh to do that. But then he smiled, adjusting quickly and favorably to this new development. "Well, I'd love to see the place sometime. Probably after the…the, um, funeral would work out best. I still have a lot to do before that happens," he concluded, more quietly.

Iroh adjusted his footing and slipped his hands into the opposite sleeves. After a wordless minute, he said, "There is something I wish to discuss with you, my nephew, concerning your mother's ceremony."

Zuko simply looked at him, his whole countenance tired now. "What about it?"

"I remember your mother well," Iroh began, not removing his gaze from the other's face. "I knew her, I am afraid, for much longer than you, which seems an injustice now. But I also remember that, however short-lived and ill-fated it ultimately was…that she was very happy with your father."

Zuko grimaced and turned away sharply, his hands twisting into unconscious fists. "I don't want to talk about him," he spat venomously. "He is a bastard and a monster and—"

"He is my brother," Iroh pointed out, cutting Zuko off with the sheer seriousness of his tone. "Just as you remember a better side of Azula, so I remember a better side of Ozai. He might have descended into deepest darkness, but no one starts out thriving on shadows. And his mind might have already been poisoned when he wed Ursa, but he had the capacity in his heart then to love her, and I believe he loves her still, even if he does not consciously remember how."

Zuko had to force his mouth open; his teeth had locked together from the strength of his clenched jaw. "What are you getting at, Uncle?" he growled, still not turning around.

Iroh sighed, his head bowing forward until his chin rested on his chest. "I am not suggesting, Zuko, that you pardon him, or even that you forgive him. I know both would be near impossible, and the former would admittedly be very foolish. But I am imploring you to extend a gesture of kindness in his direction and allow him to grieve his wife as you are grieving your mother."

"He wouldn't care," he snapped quickly, and added after a beat, "He doesn't even know."

"Zuko!" Iroh exclaimed, and he landed a hand on his nephew's shoulder and forced him into a one-eighty. The young man recoiled slightly at the fierceness of the elder's expression but did not back down.

"What?" he demanded irritably, golden eyes narrowing until his scarred one was almost shut.

"You must at least _tell_ Ozai that Ursa has passed!" the former general said, the steel of command edging his words. "It would be unforgivable not to share this information, far more unforgivable than refusing to allow him to attend his own wife's funeral! Shame, Fire Lord Zuko!"

He winced at the clear disappointment in his respected relative's voice, and the conflict in his gut that had once raged over his father stirred up again, drifting somewhat away from absolute hatred. But he had resolved to despise the man too long ago, and he wasn't letting go of that without a fight.

"He doesn't deserve it!" he shot back, his cheeks heating with anger and volume. "It was because of his insatiable ambition, because of his apathy towards _you_, that my mother was forced to make the worst possible choice! It was because of him that she had to bloody her hands to save my life, and it was because of him that our family lost its core and fell to pieces! It's all because of _him_, and I _cannot forgive that!_"

"I am not asking you to turn a blind eye," Iroh said after Zuko had remained quiet for some time, only breathing heavily. "I do not condone my brother's actions; no one should. But that does not change the basic courtesy of letting him know his wife died. Surely you must be able to see that, my nephew."

Zuko slowly uncurled his fists, absently running his fingertips along the bright red crescents embedded in his palms. "She didn't mention him," he revealed, a bit sullenly. "She didn't speak of him at all. She didn't care about him, otherwise she would've said something. She talked about me, and she talked about Azula, but she never mentioned him." He clung to that fact like a lifeline.

Iroh surveyed the younger man somberly. "Some topics are too painful, even for one's deathbed," he said at length. "And sometimes the heart remembers what the mind wishes to forget."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he grumbled, but his hand did clutch the locket through his robe-front, recalling the pair of portraits enclosed within.

"I cannot say for sure how your mother felt about your father at the end," Iroh replied. "But regardless, I think she would want to see her family alienated least of all. To honor her memory, if for no other reason, you should show Ozai some goodwill."

Zuko glared fiercely at his office chair, recalling distant days when his father had occupied that seat. His fingers tightened on the locket until his knuckles went white. "Fine," he agreed curtly. "I'll tell him, about her death and her funeral. But you are coming with me, and we are doing this now, before I forget my generosity again in my hatred."

He swept imperiously past his uncle, and Iroh fell into silent step behind him, as if he were pulled along by the sheer ferocity of Zuko's wake. The Fire Lord stormed through the halls of his palace, taking no measures to disguise the anger of his steps, glaring at every little thing that passed him by. He elected to take the long way, avoiding the courtyards altogether; he didn't want to drag his friends into this. They all might have experienced tragic losses to some degree or another, but none of them had to have a ruthless despot as a father.

He remembered, dimly, a time when he hadn't hated his father so much, when he would have done—and had done—absolutely anything to gain his approval and acceptance. Hell, he had obsessively hunted Aang and betrayed Iroh and Katara all in a futile attempt to improve his image in Ozai's eyes. He should have seen from the beginning that Ozai did not want children, just willing pawns.

That's all he and Azula had ever been, after all. Chess pieces. If the winning move required sacrificing them, Ozai would have experienced all the guilt of a chessmaster taking a calculated loss to secure victory. And Zuko was pretty sure those kinds of players had no such reservations.

His teeth ground, causing his head to ache, but he couldn't smother the raw anger that leaked from every pore. He wholeheartedly believed what he had said: if Ozai had been a better man, none of this drama ever would have happened, and they could have conceivably been a happy family. He understood on some level that there was no point in dwelling on the might-have-beens, but that didn't mean he was going to let it slide.

The prison was reasonably far away from the palace, but Zuko's anger had not cooled in the slightest by the time he and his uncle arrived. He plowed inside with all the tact of a hurricane, ignoring the guards who snapped to attention, his entire being focused on completing this one task. He merely had to deliver the news and leave; he didn't have to hang around and offer any condolences, not that Ozai would require a sympathetic ear. He would probably react as he had reacted to the news of Azula's breakdown: without expression, without remorse, without even misdirected pity.

The man had no love for his own flesh and blood, so how could he for a woman he probably regarded as a convenient way to produce heirs?

The final guard saluted stiffly, but Zuko ignored him as well in favor of nearly kicking down the metal door. It slammed loudly against the stone wall, and the Fire Lord continued his rampage, leaving Iroh to catch the door before it rebounded into his head. Steam was nearly issuing from between his lips, which were pressed so tightly they formed a near-invisible line, and he stalked directly to the iron bars of his father's permanent home.

The torchlight flickered weakly and merely cast shadows and darker shadows; Ozai emerged languidly from the blackest corner, his eyes as sharp and golden and cruel as ever. A smirk twisted his lips as he glanced between his son and his brother, and his countenance acquired an expression of condescension that made no sense considering his situation. He was the prisoner, no longer the ruler, yet he still managed to project an aura of supreme arrogance.

Zuko scowled at the mere sight of him. Ozai hadn't possessed such swagger the last time he'd visited; no, he'd been crying like a baby, pleading for the control of his body back, pleading for mercy he'd never deigned to show to anyone. And he'd received it, too; Katara hadn't wreaked her just revenge, and so he still stood here, breathing and despicable.

"Well, this certainly is a most pleasant surprise," Ozai drawled, studying each man in turn. "It seems today I am blessed with the chance to witness not just one but _two_ pathetic excuses of firebenders. You are such wonderful examples of total disgraces to the power of our people." And then he spat at their feet, the spittle dampening Zuko's robes.

"Shut the hell up," Zuko growled. "You're in no position to insult anyone."

"To the contrary, I have nothing better to do here," Ozai replied. "To think that both the Fire Lord and the Dragon of the West are visiting _me_, the lowly prisoner. So to what do I owe such an honor?"

The son fixed his father with a piercing stare and said without preamble, "My mother is dead."

If Zuko hadn't been watching Ozai unblinkingly, he probably would have missed the subtle change that was wrought on his features. As it were, the darkness almost entirely masked the faintest of cringes, a subconscious recoil that could not be suppressed.

The once-and-never Phoenix King opened his mouth, doubtless to offer some scathingly apathetic retort, but then he closed it again, as if he had forgotten his train of thought, as if it had been so completely derailed by this information that he couldn't recover it.

And without wanting to, Zuko experienced the quietest twinge in his chest, a feeling dangerously close to sympathy. From somewhere in his memory, his father's confession recalled itself, echoing hauntingly in the silent, stale air.

_Agni, I never hated her! I loved her, but she loved _him_ more!_

_She _left me_ because she had to protect _you_, her precious little Zuko! She was the only person who ever cared about me, and _you_ turned her against me!_

Maybe he had loved her, after all…

Zuko drifted back to the present when Ozai spoke.

"No," he denied firmly, shaking his head. "This is some sort of trick again—what do you want this time, Fire Lord?" he asked, sneering his son's title. "I have no more information to give you, and you don't have your little friend here now to drag it out of me."

Hoping that Iroh couldn't put those pieces together, Zuko continued meeting his father's eyes, but there was less wrath now. It was harder to summon, somehow, and he didn't like that the diminishing hatred was being replaced with something uncomfortably similar to compassion.

"This isn't a trick," Zuko replied, his voice soft but steady. "I found the locket and tracked her with it, but she died within a week of my arrival—"

"Oh, so the mere sight of you killed her?" Ozai spat ruthlessly.

With a strangled roar, the Fire Lord lunged at the prisoner, and only Iroh's quick thinking and quicker actions prevented Zuko from ripping out his father's throat directly. But it didn't stop him from flaying the other man alive with his blade-like words.

"You bastard!" he yelled hoarsely, raw with volume and emotion. "You _bastard!_ How dare you say that! She's _dead_ and all you can do is make stupid remarks! She was my mother, she was your _wife_, and you can't even care! How fucked up _are you_ that you can't even _care?_"

Ozai withstood the verbal onslaught in stoic silence, watching tears of rage and disgust and sorrow leak from his son's eyes with an undeniable tension in the set of his jaw.

Zuko strained against Iroh's hands, his chest heaving and fire sparking from his mouth with each harsh exhalation. "Why the hell did I even come here?" he demanded rhetorically. "You don't care that she's dead, and you won't need to grieve. You're _heartless_, you've always been heartless! No wonder she found it so easy to leave you behind!"

Ozai's eyes hardened at that, and Iroh rebuked, "Zuko!"

"What?" he protested, struggling anew to break free of his uncle, but the elder's fingers were like iron bands on his upper arms. "It's true! He told me himself that my mother left him to protect me and that he hated me for it. But she certainly had no compunctions about that, did she?" he spat back at his father. "And she didn't remember you before the end! I was the one at her side, I'm the memory she carried to the Spirit World! You're worthless and forgotten by everyone who's ever known you!"

"Your tongue, Zuko!" Iroh reprimanded again, bodily hauling his nephew a few paces back, most likely for Ozai's sake but perhaps for Zuko's; the prisoner had lunged at those last barbed taunts, but his hands closed on empty air beyond the cell bars. "Consider the situation!"

"I don't need you fighting my battles for me," Ozai snapped scornfully. "Not unless I want them lost!"

"Take it back!" Zuko growled. "Don't you dare insult Uncle in front of me! Not unless _you_ want to die!"

The former Fire Lord laughed humorlessly. "I suppose the weak must protect each other, since you can't protect yourselves. You have children acting as your shield now, eh, brother? How pathetic."

"I will not rise to your bait, Ozai," Iroh replied, his words clipped. "We did not come here to trade pointless threats. We came here to tell you that the woman you loved has gone from this world." He shook his head slightly. "Perhaps it was foolish of me to think you would care."

Azulon's younger son scoffed, his arms folding on his chest, but there was something uncomfortable in the way his eyes slid away to focus on the shadows. Or maybe it was simply something sad.

Zuko finally pulled free of Iroh, who let him go. The Fire Lord stalked halfway down the corridor, pulling level with the sole torch before he stopped. His whole frame was still painfully tense, and he fisted a hand in his robe-front, gripping the locket again. Its metal was cold against his chest and unyielding to his fingers, but he knew that contained within was a much more malleable bundle of hair, forever preserved between two tiny portraits depicting two then-happy people.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat and said without facing his father, "Did you love her?"

Ozai held his silence, and without any visual to go by, Zuko couldn't tell if he had reacted favorably or not.

"It's a simple question," he said regardless, his voice hoarse again. "Did you or didn't you?"

The silence stretched agonizingly, but at length Ozai said, "No."

Zuko closed his eyes, blocking out the shivering torchlight and seeking solace in the black behind his lids. He should have suspected no more, but he had held out hope, anyway…

But then his father clarified quietly, "I still do."

Zuko thought vaguely that his reaction to such information should have been more violent, but he merely withdrew the locket and opened it, glancing between the image of his mother and the image of his father. They had been young when these were painted, young and happy and oblivious of the impossibly dark twist their future would take. And he understood that their happiness, however fleeting, had still been real and should be respected.

"Her funeral's in two days," he said, speaking to the locket and not to his father, but he knew that the other man heard. "I'll send over a servant to provide you with the mourning clothes and clean you up, if you so desire it, and also an escort to the ceremony. The Avatar will be there, so if you try anything foolish, I swear I will end you myself without hesitation."

Zuko frowned, feeling perhaps that he shouldn't end it on that note, and carefully lifted the curl of raven-black hair before he shut the locket with its customary quiet click. He twirled it, studying the way the hairs gleamed darkly, and slipped it into his pocket. Turning around, he approached the cell, not paying attention to the brothers' wary glances.

He slid the fine chain over his head, letting it coil in his palm with the locket. Hefting its weight, he studied it one last time. It had never been his to begin with, and the Ursa inside was not the Ursa he knew.

No, that young woman belonged only to Ozai, just like this locket.

Zuko extended his hand, the bronze reflecting dully in the dim torchlight. "I believe this is yours," he said softly.

Ozai stared at his son for a moment, as if expecting Zuko to snatch it back, but when that didn't happen, he tentatively accepted the offering. He traced the etched character for love in the cover, gazing at it wordlessly, and finally pried it open. His expression softened as he looked upon his young wife's image.

Zuko had already turned to go, Iroh a few steps ahead, when he heard a phrase he never had imagined to hear from his father.

"Thank you, Zuko."

The words were scarcely audible, and when the son glanced over his shoulder, he saw that Ozai was still looking at the miniature portrait, that he had raised a hand to trace her painted features with heartbreaking tenderness.

Zuko almost smiled.

"You're welcome…Father."

* * *

_(now that we're here, it's so far away_

_all the struggle we thought was in vain_

_and all the mistakes one life contained_

_they all finally start to go away)_

Zuko stood before his full-length mirror, not really paying attention to his reflection but dully staring at it all the same. The servants had excused themselves several minutes prior, their duties complete, and he marginally adjusted the flow of his death-white robes. In a culture where fire was red and volcanic soil was black, death found its place in the blank white of never-present snow.

There was something empty about the color, the way it reflected everything and absorbed nothing, hollower than the deepest, blackest abyss could ever be.

He raised his eyes to meet his mirror double's, and with a slow, almost habitual movement, he traced the folds of his scar with his fingertips. He had loathed this mark for so long, been ashamed of it for so long; as he had admitted all that time ago, he interpreted it as a brand of shame, eternally damning him as the banished dishonorable prince. Even once he had come to terms with his self-image, he still hated the scar, if for no other reason than its existence.

His father had given it to him in an unrivaled feat of cruelty, and he could not forget that, hard as he tried. His fingers brushed along the lash-less lid of his left eye, following the melted contours. He couldn't really feel the touch, even though he consciously knew it was there. The flesh had been dead for too long.

But now, somehow…it didn't hurt as much to study his reflection, to see his scar in all its raw, burnt glory.

_My beautiful, beautiful boy. Look at what a handsome man you've become._

His mother had seen past it. She hadn't known how it was inflicted, but he hadn't had the heart to tell her. Some things were too evil to recount, and he knew she rested easier in ignorance of her husband's ultimate brutality.

Still, though, she had recognized that he was the same person he had always been. And maybe that was all he'd ever needed to know.

He lowered his hand and blinked against the premature prickling in his eyes. It would not do to cry already, when he had so much to still go through today. Exhaling a soft sigh, he moved away from the mirror, his tread more shuffle than walk, his limbs weighted with the knowledge of what would soon occur. He had only just emerged from his private bedchamber when he heard the knock on the main doors. Crossing the outer room, navigating all the fine, Fire-embossed furniture with slow steps, he reached the iron portals and tugged one open.

He wasn't surprised to see Katara. She also wore white silk, but the color didn't seem so out of place on her. Perhaps in the Water Tribe, white was like the Fire Nation's black: the hue of the ground, literally the homeland. Perhaps he should glean some sort of comfort from that.

He smiled faintly, evanescently, in an attempt at reassurance. He didn't know what he had to reassure her of, though—maybe that he was taking this better than she suspected. But was he really?

She didn't speak, didn't say anything pointless and hollow: _How're you doing? Are you okay? You'll be fine. Time heals all wounds, you know._ She studied him for a long moment, blue eyes older than her eighteen years, before she spread her arms in invitation. He accepted the offer, loosely wrapping his arms around her and bowing his head to her shoulder, and relaxed marginally from the comfort of a human touch.

He lost track of time, focusing hazily on the subtle pressure of her breathing, the warmth of her closeness, the scent of the sea. He thought maybe he could drift forever like this, lost in a world where there was only her and there was only him.

She drew back eventually, though not before whispering, "I love you," in his ear and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Her lips brushed his scar, and his breath nearly caught at the gesture, his eyelids suddenly so, so heavy.

When he opened his eyes at last, she was simply looking up at him, her hands lightly resting on his broad shoulders. He reached up slowly and slipped his fingers through hers, squeezing slightly to solidify the grip as he lowered their hands between them.

"How do you always know exactly what I need to hear?" he asked.

For half a moment, she looked as if she would flippantly dismiss his observation, but she ultimately just smiled a brief, close-lipped smile and replied, "Sometimes, it's not that hard." And there might have been a hint of humor in her tone, but it was drowned out by the lingering, somehow wistful sadness.

He nodded once, acknowledgingly. And because she was still so close, he leaned in the short distance and softly kissed her. It was brief, and it was chaste, but he drew strength from the connection, strength enough to rest his forehead against hers and confess, "Katara…I don't want to do this."

She didn't reply verbally, but her fingers flexed around his.

"I know I have to," he breathed, and now his fingers tightened. "But it's still so final…"

"I'll be right there, right beside you," she murmured, easing back a bit so her eyes could meet his. "And so will your uncle, and the rest of your family and friends. You won't be alone." Another squeeze, another repetition. "You won't be alone."

"I know that, too," he said softly.

Still gripping one of her hands, he continued on through the palace, descending stairs and following corridors until they emerged at the front steps. He paused at the top, feeling more than seeing Katara glance up at him, and he was quietly comforted by the sight he beheld.

Iroh and Aang stood closest on the stone flight, and arrayed below them at random intervals were Sokka and Suki, Toph, Mai, and Ty Lee. They were all garbed in the same white outfits and all donning the same expression: sympathetic yet reassuring, letting him know they understood the pain of his loss but were also ready to support him.

The elderly firebender was the first to break the mold, and he engulfed his nephew in his typical bear hug. Zuko returned the embrace with equal strength, filled with gratitude—and not for the first time—that his uncle always looked out for him so reliably.

But they parted soon enough, and Zuko unconsciously renewed his hold on Katara's hand. "Where's Azula?" he asked, glancing around. "And…our father?"

"They will be meeting us at the pyre," Iroh explained. "They were escorted separately, and with great tact and privacy, as you requested. No undue attention was drawn by either of their movements."

Zuko nodded vaguely; he had been careful to plan that out accordingly. It would be humiliating enough for both of them to have escorts—in Ozai's case because he was a criminal, in Azula's because she was still too frail—and he hadn't wanted the ordinary citizens to gape at them like they were some sort of spectacle. Today would be hard enough on them as it was.

"Pyre?" Katara wondered aloud, catching onto Iroh's phrasing. "But didn't…?"

The Fire Lord waved his free hand in a slight gesture. "It's traditional that the last rite is actually part of the funeral. So it's expected, and it's symbolic in its own way, even though it's not strictly necessary. And the first part of the ceremony is for the public, anyway; Mother was the Fire Lady, so…" He trailed off with a little shrug, dismissing the matter, even though his fingers tensed around hers.

"It's almost noon," Aang pointed out, much more somberly than his usual exuberant pitch. "We should get going."

Midday—when the sun was brightest, its rays the warmest; when firebending, like the sun, reached its apex. Zuko let his gaze wander heavenwards before he descended the palace steps, Iroh on his left and Katara on his right. The others fell into step behind, a silent procession.

It did not take them long to reach the pyre; it was in a familiar place to all of them, not just Zuko and Iroh. This was where Azulon's funeral had been held, where Zuko and Azula had fought their Agni Kai, and later where Zuko had been crowned Fire Lord. It was the typical place for any sort of occasion that dealt with the royalty and would be witnessed by the population.

Zuko's step slowed as he approached the area from the rear, only the thick red curtains separating the company from the Fire Lady's pyre. As Iroh had promised, his father and sister were waiting on either side of the shrouded opening. Both were wearing the white robes and distant expressions, but Ozai was still shackled as a precaution, and Azula sat in her wheeled chair—though given the lack of servants in her immediate vicinity, it was clear she wasn't about to let anyone push her around like a complete invalid.

They looked up when he approached, and Zuko nodded at both of them in greeting and, without even a second's hesitation, motioned for his father's guards to back off. With a last, reassuring squeeze of his hand, Katara slipped back a pace, becoming level with Aang to allow the royal family to occupy the forefront of their group.

Zuko approached his sister and extended his hand. He had conversed with Mai and Ty Lee several times since their arrival, and they had reported that Azula had been—with all her typical determination—struggling to stand and walk again, and also that she'd had some success. He knew that Azula would want to do this on her own terms if she could, and she'd be able to, if she would only accept a little assistance from him.

Azula stared at his hand, clearly warring with her already-decimated pride, but eventually she reached out and wrapped her fingers around his forearm. He gripped her arm as well, providing enough leverage for her to totter somewhat unsteadily to her feet. She swayed, needing to lean on him still, and he kindly drew no attention to that fact.

The elder generation slipped into place alongside the younger, and Zuko glanced at his family, reflecting that he never imagined he'd see them all arrayed like this: so sad, yet so…together.

He had always wanted to bring his mother back based on the assumption that only she stood a chance of reuniting his scattered family, that she was their sole common ground, the glue that held their fragile, broken parts together. But as he observed them now, he recognized that, in some way, Ursa had fulfilled that role even in death.

Perhaps they stood a chance after all.

He led the way through the curtains, not paying much attention to the assembled citizens that bowed upon his emergence. He filed around the ceremonial pyre slowly, mindful of Azula's difficulty and doing his best to mask her struggle; it would appear to the mourners that they were simply taking their time out of respect. Despite their measured pace, they reached the front of the pyre sooner than he wanted, and he clenched his jaw against the sudden ache that gnawed at his ribs.

I need to be the strong one here, he thought again.

With careful motions, he lowered himself to his knees, descending at a speed his sister could match, and bowed his head as well, acknowledging that the late Fire Lady had greater importance here than he did. He was dimly aware of Ozai kneeling beside him and Iroh on Azula's other side, and he knew that Katara and Aang and the rest had to be somewhere. They would have assembled behind the royalty, though, and he couldn't raise his head to look.

Zuko had expected to feel terrible, had expected that intense sorrow to bore into his chest again and leave him in agony. But if the sorrow were there, it only made him hollow, and he experienced the ceremony as if from a distance: words were muffled, sight was dimmed, touches were faint.

So he didn't hear the Fire Sages' traditional recitations, and he didn't notice all the ornate detailing on her empty tomb. All he could see was her actual pyre in that Earth Kingdom village, the horrible image of her vanishing into a few handfuls of ash and a few lungfuls of smoke.

And when the Fire Sages lit the pyre anew, he shut his eyes against the light and the heat and the tears.

They knelt in silent respect until the fires died out; there were no ashes to collect this time, as Zuko had already completed that task and entrusted the urn to the Chief Sage, who would be assisting them in the second, private half of the ceremony. But unlike other funerals, the family would be expected to leave first, as they were the royalty, and Zuko could finally raise his head.

His neck ached, and he blinked the lingering drops of saline from his lashes and inhaled a slow breath that shuddered all the way down to his lungs. Azula was still holding onto his forearm; he had anticipated her release as soon as they had knelt, but she had maintained her grip, requiring a different kind of support. He didn't mind that her fingernails had embedded with seeming permanence into his arm; the flesh had gone numb long ago with the rest of his heart.

Carefully, each movement weighted as if with lead, Zuko regained his feet and straightened, helping his sister and peripherally seeing his uncle and father stand as well. With equally heavy steps, he led the small company back through the curtains, and the only new addition was the Chief Sage, who carried the earthenware jar with grave solemnity.

He paused and said softly so that only Azula could hear, "It's a long walk to the courtyards."

She sucked in a sharp breath, the air hissing through her teeth, and he didn't look too closely at her. He didn't want to recognize the agony in her face that he knew was reflected in his. "I can do it," she whispered, her tone thick and coarse even at such a limited volume.

He merely nodded, leaving it at that, and made his purpose clear by simply striding ahead. He glanced back only once and saw that Ty Lee had had the presence of mind he lacked and remembered to bring along the Fire Princess's chair. After that, though, he paid dull attention to the route through the quiet halls and made sure to match his gait to Azula's uncertain shuffles. It took some time to reach the courtyard with the turtleducks' pond, and they ultimately assembled close to its edge.

The Chief Sage began intoning the final litany, but Zuko had drifted right out of the present, slipping through memories of a different time in the same place. He didn't bother refocusing until the sage concluded the last prayer to Agni and offered the ashes to the Fire Lord.

Zuko retrieved the urn from the man and turned to his father and sister. "I think she'd like to rest here," he announced softly, making an encompassing sweep of the area with one arm. "She always seemed to love this place."

"She did," Ozai agreed, the first words he'd spoken, and his eyes were fixed on a point in the past.

Zuko nodded, his fingers tensing on the earthenware container, and he took several calming breaths before he motioned to Ozai. "Come on…we should all take part in this."

He hesitated, uncertain for more reasons than one. Realizing his error, Zuko said to his uncle, "Would you please release Father?"

While Iroh located the manacles' key, Zuko glanced around for Katara. She was standing between her brother and the Avatar, and Sokka had one arm around her in a supportive gesture; her own arms were wrapped around her torso, hands fisted in the white silk. He hadn't witnessed it, but he could see her younger self straining after her mother's vessel so clearly, and he wondered if he would do the same, if he would try to reclaim the ashes once he'd scattered them to the breeze.

He knew they would slip through his fingers.

Ozai had been unchained by now, but he did nothing provocative, only approaching his son and daughter in silence. When he joined them at the pond's edge, Zuko shifted his grip so that Azula was holding onto the crook of his arm, thereby freeing his hands to grapple with the urn. The lid came off easily, and he presented it to both of them, allowing them to take a handful of its contents before he took one himself.

"Sleep well, Mom," he whispered to the wind, gently tossing the ashes into the air.

He was aware of Azula and Ozai offering similar near-inaudible goodbyes, and the solidarity of the actions made his heart ache in a not wholly unpleasant way. For those few slow moments, he had been acutely aware of their connection as a family, as if it weren't just the love of a shared person but something far deeper and much more fundamental that held them together.

He shook the last of the ashes free, letting them take flight as well, and he closed the jar again with an elusive sense of finality, as if furling a lengthy scroll. It was over now, his mother properly laid to rest, and he prayed that the day would come when the past would just be the past.

With that thought, he returned to the present, helping Azula walk back to her chair. He tried to let her move as independently as possible, not wanting her to scorn him for his help; changed or not, she was still Azula. When she was reseated, though, she spared him a brief glance, the gratitude visible in her eyes, and he smiled subtly before he moved away. He was also pleased to note that Mai and Ty Lee went to the frail princess's side, apparently making good on their promise to renew their friendship. Azula may have sometimes acted on cruel whims with the two girls, but at the core of it all, they shared a hard-to-break bond of many years shared.

Zuko found that his feet had directed him towards Katara, and Sokka moved away to allow the firebender to sink into another gentle embrace. He was so weary from the emotional weight of the day and so glad he had her to lean on, in both senses of the word. She was such a grounding presence, solid and dependable and _there_.

He felt some of the burden lift from his shoulders, and he straightened, searching her face and remembering the way she had looked when he had glimpsed her earlier. "Are you okay?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him, not anticipating that comment. "Isn't this a little backwards? Shouldn't I be asking you?"

He shrugged once and tucked a rogue curl behind her ear. "When you told me about your mother's funeral, it was clear how hard that day was for you. I didn't want today to bring up too many bad memories, even though it was probably unavoidable. I don't like seeing you so sad," he added, nearly husky with honesty.

She smiled, faint and fleeting. "You don't need to worry about me, Zuko. I'm okay. Actually, helping you through this loss…I think it's helped me, too. It's hard to put into words, but our situations are so similar in a way that I can't help but learn more about mine from experiencing yours. Both of our mothers gave up absolutely everything to ensure that we'd live, but more than that, I believe they did it to ensure that we'd have the chance to be happy. They would want that."

She raised one hand to her necklace, but the gesture didn't have the same desperation as before; it was more of a habitual sort of motion, like his own tracing of his scar. "I'm not saying I've been miserable my whole life, but I think I lost sight of what I was supposed to be doing, what wearing this necklace even means. Dad didn't give it to me to remind me that Mom was gone; he gave it to me to remind me that she was always here, instead. I'd forgotten that," she confessed wistfully. "I'd forgotten what it was like to feel anything but hurt at the mention of her. And I know I'll still miss her, and that I'll still get sad sometimes, but…it's not as bad anymore. I can remember the good times, and hopefully, one day, that's all I'll have left."

Zuko cracked a small smile. "I'm glad to hear it, Katara."

She pulled him into another hug, and while it was unexpected, he didn't hesitate to return it. "I think it's high time I thanked you for being there for me," she said, muffled, into his shoulder. "So thank you."

"You don't have to," he murmured, tightening his hold. "I'll always be there."

"Until I get sick of you, that is," she replied, unable to swallow the tease.

He exhaled a laugh. "Yes," he agreed softly. "Until you get sick of me."

And he simply tugged her even closer, glancing over her shoulder at his family and friends. Aang and Toph were quietly conversing with Iroh, while Sokka and Suki were engaged with Mai and Ty Lee; Azula was also part of that group, but she wasn't talking, her gaze fixed instead on the still waters of the pond. And Ozai was standing off to the side, re-shackled and flanked by his guards, but there was none of his usual wrath or superiority on his features; he instead looked lost, empty.

Zuko made a mental note to speak with his father before he was returned to prison, and perhaps to move the man to a different cell—one with more light to better see the locket's portraits.

But for now he held Katara, and he would not let her go.

* * *

_(now that we're here, it's so far away_

_and I feel like I can face the day_

_I can forgive, and I'm not ashamed_

_to be the person that I am today)_

Dawn had not even properly broken yet, but that did not deter Zuko. Instead, he made a point of rising this early, preferring to meditate and ease into his day as much as possible before he had to confront the never-dwindling piles of papers and problems that lurked behind his office doors.

In and out, in and out, in and out, he recited to himself.

The little flames of his trio of candles swelled and shrank accordingly, appearing dim even in this first light of the sun. A faint breeze ruffled his hair and teased the fire, but he kept it strong and steady. He liked meditating on his balcony, cross-legged and facing the dawn: it was the one time when he was completely at peace.

As he delved deeper into the rhythm of his meditation, his mind was free to wander to other things, and he calmly reviewed his day. He had a meeting with his council at nine o'clock, and then at noon he would be planning out new economic strategies with the governors of Fire's northern islands, and sometime after that he would have to address at least some of his paperwork, as he recalled that there was a rather urgent missive from the Earth ambassador that he'd been ignoring up until now, when he could ignore it no longer. He had a fleeting recollection that it had something to do with emissaries or something like that, and he wondered if he would be required to travel to Ba Sing Se soon. All in all, he would have another busy day.

But he didn't mind all that much. In the month since his mother's funeral, he had attacked his nation's crises one after another with renewed vigor, and while he hadn't been able to pinpoint exactly why he'd experienced such a change, such ignorance had not left him unable to perform his duties to much more than mere satisfaction. The Fire Nation was the closest it'd been to the definition of thriving since the end of the war, and while that was nevertheless still a far cry from wealthy or even comfortable…it was better.

Zuko was confident that it would all work out. He had come to the realization that, with help—especially from the Avatar, and Aang was more invaluable now than ever before—he would be able to wipe Fire's slate clean and give them the freshest beginning possible. Nothing would ever be able to wholly erase the ugly mark his nation had left on the world, but given time and the proper effort, he knew he could make the world see past it and remember how good and contributing Fire had once been.

Like his scar, the memory of the war would always be there.

But like his scar, that didn't have to cripple his people forever.

He almost smiled at that epiphany, his lashes parting slightly so that he could thinly observe the pinkish-gold light streaking from the eastern horizon, which from this height was just visible above the lip of the crater. And he thanked Agni one more time—in an endless succession of occasions—for allowing him that one last week with his mother.

At the time, he'd thought it cruel, that one week was too short, not enough to make any notable difference. But now he realized that it had had an impact, that she had left a powerful, lasting impression, and he shouldn't be all that surprised.

It was essential that he forgave himself for all his lingering guilt, concerning his personal acts of malice and betrayal, before he could make the world view his nation in a clear enough light to earn forgiveness, too. And somewhere along the line, when he was reflecting on everything he'd told his mother about Fire's problems and his own and everything she'd offered in reply, he was finally able to let it all go.

Zuko dimly recalled that the Avatar had mentioned something like this when he related the steps he'd taken to unblock his chakras, and he wondered with a chuckle if he, too, would be able to enter the Avatar State when all was said and done.

Shaking his head of that whimsical tangent, he let his mind drift to other areas, namely Katara's return. Aang and the rest had left a few days after the funeral, and Katara had accompanied them to join in the effort of rebuilding the Southern Air Temple. She had returned only yesterday on the back of a new sky bison named Pamo—he understood that Sokka was behind the astonishing wit associated with that moniker—and related with weary satisfaction that the temple was now open for business, so to speak.

Apparently it had involved lots of construction, since the Air Temples were devised in such a way that common folk couldn't reach them; Aang and Toph had had their work cut out for them, carving ramps and raising bridges and embedding stairs into the mountainsides. Aang had declared that he wanted the place to be accessible to all, to have this not just be an Air Temple but in essence an Avatar one, where people of all nations could mingle freely, a sort of no-man's land in a world that had once been so fiercely divided into four and then nearly swamped in one.

Katara had then remarked that she'd never clean anything with waterbending again—since a whole temple was a rather big project—and retreated to her chamber, which was still the guest suite she'd occupied before Ozai's interrogation, months and months ago. He hadn't seen a point in moving her into a more permanent room when she'd simply be joining him here after their marriage.

A smile definitely curled his lips now as he entertained that thought. He'd taken full advantage of her absence in the past weeks by bringing up the impending reality of their wedding with his council at every possible opportunity—her absence had been convenient namely because the council then couldn't try to spy on her, or them together, which he wouldn't really put past them.

And slowly, steadily, he had worn them down. He had known he would win: first of all, he'd never wanted anything so badly, and he was not the type to back down from a challenge; and second, he'd had a fistful of solid arguments in their union's favor.

They had balked initially at the concept of their ruler marrying a commoner, let alone a waterbender, but he had pointed out rather bluntly that the Fire Nation needed to be more accepting, what with its despicable current track record, and what better way to demonstrate that the country was doing away with old prejudices than to have its leader wed a foreigner? And it would help, too, that this union wasn't for purely political reasons—they actually loved each other, and Zuko hoped he could count on Aang to vouch for that, should the need ever arise.

The council had grumbled, but it was an unavoidable sort of logic, and they hadn't grumbled too long or too loud. They also could see the advantages of having someone so close to the Avatar on their throne; perhaps they thought it would garner them favors, which it wouldn't, but Zuko had seen no reason to clear that up.

They had warmed further to the idea when Zuko revealed how many of his recent ideas had actually been hers, or at least partly so, and they had been grudgingly impressed by her political prowess. Zuko knew that had pretty much sealed the deal; if Katara could help the Fire Nation to its feet, the council couldn't exactly refuse. The time for pride had eclipsed long ago.

He understood that now they were squabbling over the issue of inheritance, which he wasn't particularly bothered with at the moment. As far as he knew, they were doing away with the old law of primogeniture, wherein the throne passed to the eldest child, and instead finagled the rule so that it passed to the eldest firebender. Zuko couldn't complain about that—it only made sense that the Fire Nation would be ruled by a firebender, and he didn't mind much either that if he and Katara failed to produce such an heir, then the throne would pass to someone else.

That, reportedly, was the main source of all the squabbling, since inheritance after the royal family was exhausted got into very muddy ground with the nobility, but again, Zuko didn't really care right now. He planned on being the Fire Lord for a good long time, and the council would certainly figure this all out in the next few decades.

He was pulled from his musings by the soft scraping of shoes, and he glanced sidelong at Katara, who had just shuffled out onto the balcony.

"Hey," he greeted quietly, keeping part of his attention focused on regulating the flames. "Why're you up?"

She shrugged, squinting against the relative brilliance of the sun, where it had just breached the horizon in a sliver of liquid gold. "I woke up…and then I thought, instead of rolling over and going back to sleep, maybe I should see if you were up, too. I figured right, it seems," she added with a small smirk, which faded into something softer as she concluded, "I just wanted to see you."

He watched as she curled up against the balustrade, looking like she might slip back into slumber at any moment, her eyes now more sleepily half-shut. He returned the whole of his attention to his meditation, gliding through the rest of his routine in the comfortable silence that had enveloped the balcony. But soon enough he snuffed the smaller candles and rose to his feet, stretching his muscles and straightening the fall of his loosely tied robe.

Leaning his elbows on the railing and hunching over, he gazed out across his city with a content expression. "You know…I finally asked Uncle Iroh about the Waltz of the Phoenix. Remember, you asked me about its origins, and I didn't know?"

Katara copied his pose, her shoulder nudging his. "Oh, yeah. I did. So what'd he have to say?"

Zuko chuckled before he grew more thoughtful. "It's kind of funny, actually. The dance we did is only half of the actual performance."

"Half?" she echoed. "Not a quarter?"

"Apparently," he continued, "it's this incredibly ancient ritual that used to be performed when the Avatar was fully realized. The part we do, like I said, is half—the fire _and_ the water. The other half is performed at the same time and reflects earth and air. I guess it used to be a whole big deal, and the best benders of each element would be the ones given the honor of doing the dance. But that was ages ago, and eventually the Fire Nation just adopted their part after the rest of the tradition faded away."

She grinned crookedly. "Maybe once Aang trains some more airbenders, we'll have to do the dance for him in all his Avatar glory. Let's see…there'll be you and me, of course, and maybe we can coerce Toph into doing the earthbender's part…or maybe we'll just make Aang do the airbender's and forget that it's supposed to be in his honor. I don't suppose your uncle knows the rest of the steps?" she queried.

Zuko shrugged his ignorance and then pointed out, "You might as well get used to just calling him 'Uncle'."

She blushed at the implication, but her smile only widened. "Uncle Iroh," she said, trying out the roll of the phrase. "Yeah, I could get used to that."

"And while you're at it," he continued, smirking, "you can get used to being called Fire Lady."

"Fire Lady Katara," she repeated musingly. "Hmm. How about Fire Queen? Or—yes! Fire _Goddess_. Now that I could handle," she joked with a bubble of laughter.

"Whatever you desire, Fire Goddess," he teased in return, and he ducked in and claimed her lips in a slow, searing kiss. When he pulled back, leaving her breathless and a little dazed, his smirk became more pronounced.

Katara nodded vaguely at length. "Okay, Zuko. After that, feel free to call yourself Fire God if you really want."

He wrinkled his nose. "I think Agni has dibs, and I don't really want to. Unless," he added devilishly, "you just want to use that title when we're alone."

She swatted his arm, but she was grinning again, as if she just couldn't keep the smile from her face. She leaned into him, and he slid an arm around her, drawing her into a sideways embrace. It was comfortable here, just the two of them drifting in the companionable quiet. They watched as pale morning light spilled over the volcano's ragged edge and washed into the streets of the sleeping city, painting it in hazy hues of gray-shadowed gold.

"We can really do this, can't we?" he murmured contemplatively, resting his chin in her hair. "We stand a chance at fixing the world, putting it right. It's not impossible any longer, is it…it's not just a dream."

She nodded against his chest, cuddling closer to him and listening to his heart beating in harmony with hers. "We'll be okay," she agreed, and then she said it again, maybe just because she liked its sound.

"We'll be okay."

He smiled faintly. He couldn't help but feel that she wasn't referring to the world in general, but he knew that didn't take away any of the truth.

Together, they would face today and tomorrow and all the days after, and together, they would prevail, no matter what future awaited beyond the rising sun.

**_fin._**

**_

* * *

_**

A/N the final: And so it ends. Really, I didn't expect this story to be so much about closure...I guess that's what happens when you take a little one-shot and say, "Grow, my darling! Be fruitful! Multiply!" or something like that. Don't neglect to read the epilogue!

But in a more serious light, I would like to thank each and every reader and reviewer with the deepest and most undying gratitude. I wrote this for you guys; well, okay, I wrote it for myself a little, too (and now it's freakishly morphed into canon in my head, and I can't quite force myself to think otherwise, no matter how strange that may seem), but you're the ones who've read and (hopefully) enjoyed it for so long. My longest fanfic ever! All 146 glorious pages...ahhhh. I'm so proud of this I could just about explode.

Viva Zutara, my friends. Viva Zutara.

-Faye


	16. seize

_**

* * *

**_

Beyond the Rising Sun

_**epilogue**_

_(eight years later)_

Azula blinked against the fine spray kicked up by the slicing motion of the prow, and her hands tightened their grip on the railing's edge. Directly ahead, she could see the mountains of the Southern Air Temple's islands rising from the sea in gentle foothills that smoothly descended into the pebbly beaches.

"Ah, we have almost arrived," Iroh remarked, and Azula glanced over her shoulder to see her uncle some dozen steps away. He was standing with his hands clasped behind his back and round belly proudly stuck forward; his usual smile twinkled in his eyes and carved deep wrinkles into his face.

She didn't reply, instead watching in silence as the helmsman guided their vessel into the stone harbor, the long-ago product of a few deft earthbending moves. She didn't pay much attention as they disembarked, either, feeling uncomfortably out of place.

She had felt like this often since her recovery, a near-constant uneasiness. It only diminished sometimes, mostly when she was around Mai and Ty Lee, but they had stayed back in the capital for Tom-Tom's graduation from the Academy or something. Azula had been too preoccupied by their apologies for being unable to accompany her that she'd rather missed their reason entirely.

Besides, this was her first chance to be out of the capital since the war. She hadn't been about to skip this opportunity for a change of scenery for the sake of a little solidarity amongst friends. And while she knew that she'd been given a lenient sentence—especially considering all that she'd done and wanted to do—it was still nice to finally get out of that volcano. The palace might not have been as bad as the prison, but when you weren't allowed to leave, the two places became eerily similar.

It wasn't as if she would've returned to her old, conniving ways. She didn't have the spite anymore. Or maybe she was simply sick of constantly disappointing the handful of people who actually cared enough to love her.

"Auntie Zula! Auntie Zula!"

The princess—she'd retained the title out of respect, though she was no longer a plausible heir—barely had time to brace herself before a small body hurled itself against her, hugging her legs fiercely. She patted the black-haired head uncertainly, flushing a little when Iroh chortled beside her.

"Princess Kyrah," he said, sweeping the tiny girl off her feet and into his arms. "It has been so long! Look how big you are already!"

Azula exhaled a silent sigh of relief; she never was anything but awkward around her young niece and nephews, as if she didn't quite know what to make of them. It all still seemed a bit surreal to her, despite the years she'd spent in their day-to-day presence: Zuko having children, and with a waterbender!

Speaking of…

"You better not be filling my daughter's head with proverbs, Uncle," Katara teased—as if that were really so heinous—and she strolled down the pier at a considerably slower pace than her child, a grin pulling at the corners of her lips.

"I should hope not!" Iroh replied in kind, and he adjusted his grand-niece's position on his hip—more like on his stomach. "How old are you now, Kyrah?"

"Three!" the girl replied proudly, holding up the corresponding number of fingers.

The elderly firebender chuckled again. "I knew you were bigger! You're practically a young lady," he said, and he set her down on the dock once more. She turned big blue eyes on Azula, who smiled halfway, still not quite sure what to do with this situation. She'd seen it all, of course: Zuko and Katara's wedding, now their marriage, their joint effort to revive the Fire Nation and their marked success…but sometimes she felt as if she'd observed it all from behind a gauzy curtain because it hadn't properly sunk in yet that _this_ was reality. It was much too different from the future she'd envisioned as a child.

"I'm glad you could make it," Katara said, beckoning her daughter, who gladly bounced up into her arms and held tightly to her mother's azure robes. Azula suppressed a start when she realized that Katara was addressing her; it surprised her even more, even now, that her sister-in-law—_sister-in-law!_—spoke to her so…normally, as if Azula had never been her most threatening enemy. But she supposed if Katara could marry Zuko, then perhaps it wasn't that far-fetched that she, too, be welcomed into the fold.

"Zuko wasn't certain you'd be coming," the waterbending master continued, not distracted when Kyrah tugged on one of her hair loops. "He thought you might attend Tom-Tom's celebration with Mai and Ty Lee."

Azula swallowed, hesitant. And how she hated feeling like this; she had once been so sure, and now everything was so topsy-turvy… "I…no, I wasn't…I'm not there," she finished lamely, hating the pauses in her speech, the lack of proper grammar. It was disgraceful, it really was.

Katara smiled fleetingly. "Yes. Anyway, Zuko will be very happy to see you." She hiked her daughter up, as the girl had begun slipping off her hip. "Sweetie, when did you get so heavy?" she asked rhetorically, shooting the two firebenders an amused glance.

"I'm a big girl!" Kyrah piped in response, pointing a small finger at Iroh. "Uncle Iroh said so!"

Iroh grinned, as if guiltily admitting to a crime. "It is true, my niece. But where is my namesake? I have a new tea to share," he added, hefting a cunningly crafted box.

Katara frowned and glanced around, as if her son would drop out of the sky. "Azroh is…somewhere. Have you seen your brother?" she asked Kyrah.

She nodded, her own little hair loops swinging back and forth. "Yep! Up the mountain, wi' Daddy!"

"Oh, yes, that's right," her mother agreed. "It's Daraka I lost track of."

"Raka's with Uncle Sokka," Kyrah continued helpfully, and she swiveled on Katara's hip. "Over there. Boomerang!"

Katara narrowed her eyes. "Ugh, how many times have I told him that's a weapon, not a toy? Daraka's only three, for the spirits' sakes…Sokka!" she called, a certain disciplinarian edge to her tone, and she summoned a wave with her free hand and sailed down the beach towards her brother. Her daughter's bubbly laughter hung on the air as she enjoyed the impromptu ride.

Azula watched her extended family with a somber expression. She knew better than to assume that Zuko and Katara's eldest was named after her as well as Iroh: _Az_ was a fairly common prefix in the Fire Nation, wherein _Roh_ was a rare suffix. Sometimes, though, she liked to think that they'd thought of her, too.

"Come," Iroh said, laying a broad hand on her shoulder. "We have your brother to see, and others besides. It won't be that bad," he consoled, understanding her hesitancy.

"I don't know," Azula mumbled, annoyed that she wasn't enunciating her words properly again but unable to force her voice to any more respectable pitch. "Perhaps I should stay on the ship."

Although after five years of house arrest and three in prison, she didn't entirely want to condemn herself to more close, iron surroundings.

"What, come all this way and then not enjoy the party? Ridiculous," Iroh dismissed, and he steered his niece along the pier and across the beach towards where the long stairs to the temple waited. They ascended without speaking, even though Iroh was humming one of his many favorite songs. Azula mostly focused on her feet and wondered bleakly if she'd ever feel like she belonged in this new world her brother had helped create.

They had barely reached the top and moved away from the edge when Zuko approached at a half-jog, his face split in a broad smile. "Azula! Uncle! You're both here!" He captured his sister in a hug, which she hardly had the mental capacity to return at even half strength, but she didn't have to linger too long, as he was moving on to embrace their uncle.

"Yes, we took our time," Iroh said with a grin. "Sometimes I like a leisurely voyage."

Zuko cast him an askance look, though the expression was executed with all fondness. "Since when have you ever liked doing anything at any other speed?" he pointed out, then asked, "Have either of you seen Katara? I thought I saw her head this way…"

"She's on the beach," Azula said, her words a little clipped. Inwardly, she groaned; she couldn't say anything right today. Not even, _Hello, Zuko, it's good to see you, too._

"Giving Sokka quite a dressing-down, I imagine," Iroh elaborated. "He was trying to teach your twin son how to use the boomerang."

To Azula's surprise, Zuko only shook his head and smiled. "You should have seen her when Daraka took my swords right off the wall. The little guy shoved the furniture around to get at them and everything. I personally thought it was pretty admirable, really, the way he put it all together. Katara thought otherwise."

"Uncle Iroh!" called another small voice, and the new arrivals turned to see a boy running at them, ice-blue eyes bright and black hair swinging in the traditional ponytail. "You have something for me!"

"Don't jump to conclusions, Azroh," Zuko chuckled, laying a hand on his elder son's shoulder. "It might be for me, you know."

"It is the newest ginseng blend," Iroh explained, opening the lid of the little wooden box.

"Nope, you're right, that's yours," Zuko quipped, and he reached up to absently stroke the black hairs on his chin. Azula had noticed that he'd begun wearing the beard and growing his hair long, and she wondered if that meant he'd finally gotten over his issues with their father. She still wasn't quite sure how she felt about Ozai most of the time; that kind of betrayal was hard to forgive.

She watched as Iroh knelt before the young crown prince and excitedly—and at great length—talked about the box's contents. But she didn't have to stand in awkward silence for long, as her brother snatched onto her sleeve and led her into the temple proper. They, too, walked wordlessly along the quiet cloisters, and Azula couldn't help staring at the Air Nomads wandering around.

She had known that the Avatar had revived his people, but knowing about them and seeing them were two entirely different concepts. After all, it was her great-grandfather who had eliminated this culture in the first place—being here amongst them was like the greatest form of trespassing. But Zuko was here, wasn't he, and Sozin was just as much his ancestor as hers.

Still, she never thought she'd see anyone else with orange robes and bald heads and arrow tattoos.

They emerged onto one of the expansive balconies, and she identified a few of the people, both from their status as previous enemies and from seeing them occasionally at the Fire Nation palace. Aang was deep in conversation with a few of his airbenders, and Toph and Suki were gabbing with a man she didn't recognize but would later learn was Suki's—and also Zuko's—father-in-law, Hakoda.

Azula hung back, even after some introductions were orchestrated by Zuko, and quietly sipped the beverage she'd been provided with. She wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was cold and fruity, and she thought she heard the Avatar mention something about Sokka and deserts, but he may have meant desserts. She didn't really see how a desert could apply to this sort of situation.

She rather liked being a wallflower in some sense; she got to observe what was going on, and nobody really bothered trying to loop her into any sort of forced conversation, respecting her desire for relative privacy. She watched as Katara and Sokka and the small children eventually returned, and how Sokka and Zuko then began arguing about the best way to barbecue—to which Aang said loudly that the best meat was none at all, and got a boomerang thrown at his head by the indignant Sokka—and she couldn't quite contain a laugh at that. She hid it well enough with her hand, as if she didn't want to be caught doing something despicable.

But as the sun began sliding towards the western horizon, Katara approached, burdened with several stacked trays. "Hey, Azula—can you take the top one? Ah, thanks," she said, adjusting the remaining weight in her arms. "These things are heavy! It's as if we all eat a lot or something," she joked.

Azula fell into step behind her, and they soon reached the tables, which were arrayed on the front lawn, near the airball court. Either Katara had made a lot of trips, or she'd shanghaied someone else into her services, as the tables were already bowing beneath the weight of dozens of dishes. Azula set hers down where her sister-in-law indicated, eyeing some of the food with a mix of curiosity and displeasure; sometimes being cosmopolitan had its downside…although if you asked the other nations, they would admit that Fire's indoor plumbing vastly improved their quality of life.

"Here, Azula, you're between me and Uncle," Zuko said, appearing out of nowhere to gesture to a cushion and plant a kiss on his wife's cheek. "Katara, the kids are over there, and Aang's complaining about something. You better go find out."

Katara rolled her eyes good-naturedly and bustled off, even though Azula swore she heard her mutter something like, _As if I don't already have enough to do_.

The Fire Nation Princess reclined on the indicated cushion, though, and glanced around at her tablemates. It was mostly the core group from the wartime, but there were a few additional spouses and a few of the monks. Zuko sat next to her with a sigh of contentment, apparently relieved to be off his feet, and Iroh arrived moments later, still trailed by Azroh until the boy wandered off to the kids' table.

"I am so glad your son likes tea," Iroh said, speaking across Azula, who didn't mind.

"The odds were that one of them would, I suppose," Zuko agreed wryly, pouring himself some sake and offering it to Azula, who accepted with a nod. "Oh, I don't think we've seen you to tell you," he added, focusing on his sister. "Last week, Azroh was going through his firebending forms, and he managed to turn the flames blue a few times. Looks like being a prodigy runs in the family, too, eh?"

Azula blinked, and she smiled, wondering anew if maybe the boy's name weren't entirely coincidental. "That's good news," she said, for the lack of something more appropriately excited.

Just then Katara sat down, and she fixed her husband with a slightly annoyed, slightly amused look. "It seems that Aang wants to perform the whole Waltz," she informed him. "He's convinced that he and Toph have the steps down; he just wanted to make sure _we_ didn't forget our part."

Zuko snorted and took a little sip of his drink. "Ha, as if. Uncle, I hope you brought your sumki horn."

Iroh piled stewed sea prunes with much relish on his plate; Azula eyed the gloppy food with suspicion. "I never go anywhere without it!" he declared. "Here, my niece, you should try this."

"Do I have to?" she asked, unintentionally causing her brother to snicker.

"It's not good, the first time," he let her know. "Or the second. Or tenth. But after that, you get the hang of it. Hey, Katara!" he said as she swatted his arm. "I didn't say they were bad!"

"It was hardly complimentary," she replied archly, though she had trouble fighting the grin. "The kids like it. I don't see why you don't."

"It must be a blood thing," Zuko decided, and then he glanced sidelong at his very happy uncle. "Or if you're Uncle Iroh. And I eat them now; I think that's a vast improvement."

The adults had barely delved into their meal when Daraka came over, amber eyes troubled, and held up his plate to his parents' scrutiny. "Ryoki got sea prunes on everything! I can't eat it now!"

Katara blinked, and Zuko really roared with laughter now. "I knew it! Daraka, you don't like sea prunes, do you?" he asked, grinning ear to ear.

The little boy shook his head, and Zuko fondly ruffled his short wolf-tail. "Don't worry, son; I'll get another plate for you, and I'll tell Uncle Sokka to teach his son better manners." He stood up, still chuckling, and lilted, "Doesn't like sea prunes…oh, that's too good…"

Katara shoveled some of the offending food into her mouth, saying around it, "Daraka's eaten them before; he probably just doesn't like them over everything. And I really don't see the problem. They're delicious…"

"Yes, they are," Iroh agreed, already on his third helping of the dubious vegetables.

Despite their praise, Azula steered clear of that particular offering, though she was persuaded to try several foreign dishes, and she certainly took a second piece of Aang's classic custard cakes. With her stomach warm and full and the sake running pleasantly through her veins, she eased more into her cushion, allowing herself to lounge a little less properly than usual; prison time or not, she couldn't quite beat the nobleman's severity from her posture.

She blinked when suddenly Katara, Zuko, and Iroh all rose, but they were replaced quickly by her small nephews and niece, who claimed the vacated cushions with the usual determination of children sick of being regulated to the kids' table.

"What's going on?" Azula wondered aloud, swiveling in time to see Aang, Katara, Zuko, and Toph disappear into the shadows of the Air Temple's interior.

"Dancing, Auntie Zula," Kyrah explained, wiping pink custard off the carved medallion on her over-large necklace, where the frosting had fallen from overzealous consumption. She proceeded to lick her fingers with gusto.

"Oh," she said, not having expected an answer, and she glanced to her other side, where Azroh had seized his great-uncle's cushion and was also eating a custard cake. She blankly studied her elder nephew for a long moment before she ventured, "So…I heard you can firebend blue."

He looked up at her, and for a moment, he looked so much like Zuko had that she had to blink. When she reclaimed her hold on the present, though, he was nodding. "Not always," he admitted, disheartened. "But sometimes."

"You'll get the hang of it," Azula let him know, and in demonstration, she let cobalt flames lick at her fingertips. He watched in awe, his mouth hanging open.

"Wow, Aunt Azula! You didn't even try!" he exclaimed, clearly very impressed.

She smiled, ever so slightly, and snuffed the flames effortlessly. She thought that maybe she could do this, that she could interact with the boy, but before she could give him any pointers, she was distracted by her uncle's proclamation.

"My lords and ladies!" Iroh boomed, his sumki horn cradled in his lap. "I give you…the never-before-seen…_complete_…Waltz of the Phoenix!"

"Mama! Daddy!" Kyrah said, standing up on her cushion and waving as the master benders filed into the open space.

Katara and Zuko offered their daughter a wave and smile before they settled into position, one pair of hands clasped and the other settling on shoulder and waist. Toph and Aang stood in opposite corners of the square floor, so that all four of them were in a straight line, and slid into their own respective stances.

Azula raised her sake dish to her lips, but she never got to take a drink; once Iroh started playing and the benders started dancing in a blur of red and blue and gold and green, she was riveted to the performance. The song was familiar—she had heard it performed at festivals before—but it seemed that Iroh had altered it somewhat, or perhaps he had simply added in a few extra arpeggios that hadn't been there before.

And it seemed that there was something perfect about the dance that didn't have anything to do with the flawless choreography—there were four of them, and they were all spinning through and around each other, but none of them collided, no one so much as hesitated—or with the uncompromising speed and accuracy of Iroh's playing.

Four elements interacting in perfectly balanced harmony.

But this dance _had_ been created to celebrate the Avatar.

Still, though…Azula had never imagined it would be so beautiful.

As she sat there, full and content on her cushion, surrounded by her extended family, and watching this elaborate, breathtaking performance, she wondered if this were what happiness felt like. Or maybe this was the beginning of belonging, a step in happiness's right direction.

The dance ended soon enough, and she applauded as enthusiastically as anyone. The benders bowed deeply, all of them—even Toph—grinning, and then they returned to their seats, considerably more tired but at the same time more exhilarated. Katara and Zuko scooped up Kyrah and Daraka respectively and sat the children on their laps, already chatting away, and Azula was surprised but inwardly pleased when Azroh crowded her on her cushion instead of electing to share with Iroh.

She turned in bemused curiosity when Zuko threw his head back and laughed a deep, rich, shoulder-shaking laugh; she glanced past him and saw that Katara had already progressed to the silent stage, tears streaming from her eyes. The twins, despite having missed the joke, joined in anyway, their parents' joy infectious.

Azula found herself smiling, too, a quiet, sort of secretive curve of her lips. She hadn't seen her brother like this ever before; she tended to keep to herself in the palace, perpetually leery of social interactions, and he was abroad half the time anyway. But she wondered if he were like this often, if he had long ago found what she still sought.

Because Zuko, undeniably, was happy.

_**fin (encore).**_


End file.
